


surrender to the city of the fireflies

by writtenndust



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-01-02 15:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenndust/pseuds/writtenndust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of an embittered Evil Queen with a fixation on revenge, Regina is a tattered rocker with a sketchbook past. Her heart has been broken and her life is falling apart; tumbling down the neck of a bottle and clinging to a ghost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in an alternate universe, there's no magic or ogres or dark curses. There's just Regina, Vodka and ironic one-liners.

David followed the officer down the dimly lit corridor. The jangling of the man’s keys with every step that he took, roused the overnight drunkards from their fitful slumber. Groans and moans could be heard from the dank cells on either side with iron bars, rusted over and flaking, dividing them from pre-dawn brawlers and gutter dwelling crack addicts.

As they rounded a corner his eyes met the uneven view of a scarred man in ripped overalls wearing a plaid shirt over broad biceps. The track marks beneath his rolled up sleeves were angry and raw and the bags under his eyes expressed the regrets of his late night high.

David rolled his eyes as they approached the only cell at the station that held a lone occupant. If he didn’t know her as well as he did, he’d have thought the isolation overkill; but considering she was a woman - the only one currently residing at the seventy-seventh precinct’s exclusive drunk tank - he figured it was likely for the best.

He also didn’t want to have to deal with the outcome had she been saddled with a roommate she decided not to like.

Stepping around the police officer who had stopped directly in front of the iron bars, David released a sigh. Against the wrought-iron crossbar, a petite pair of textured leather, size six stiletto boots perched comfortably against the bars; the nine inch heel poking out from the confines of the cell.

Attached to the boots at her ankle, was a long pair of toned calves clad in torn, wet-look black skinny-jeans on the hips of the sleeping woman. Her dark hair was splayed out against the pinstripe pillow and her studded leather jacket with the torn right sleeve was rested over her for warmth. She was on her back, mouth open and every now and then she released the faintest snort.

It was David’s way of knowing she was out cold.

He cleared his throat, meeting the officer’s eye when the woman beyond the bars didn’t so much as flinch at the sound.

“Reg,” He called and she shuffled, repositioning her feet, crossing them over the opposite way before shuffling back against her pillow. She never opened her eyes.

With an annoyed growl under his breath he gave her boots a forceful shove, knocking them from the bars and in turn, rolling her off the small bunk. She let out a loud yelp as she hit the floor, thankfully landing on her jacket that did little to soften the blow but to prevent the cold concrete from impacting her bare skin.

“What was that for?” She grumbled, picking herself up, scratching at the back of her head.

Her hair was a mess, teased and brittle from re-application of an unnecessary amount of hairspray. Her over-sized Rolling Stones tank-top hung low off one shoulder, exposing the strap of her burgundy bra and a long chain fell around her neck that held a heavy, antique silver locket.

“That,” He smirked. “Was for the phone call I get at seven am from the police stating that you’ve been hauled in, for the third time this month.” His eyes progressively narrowed as his clenched fists raised to rest on his hips. “Indecent exposure, Regina,” He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“There was nothing indecent about it.” She grumbled, resting her arms on the bars.

David rolled his eyes.

“Besides, the time isn’t my fault. You’re my emergency contact,” She shrugged, standing up straight and meeting his eye. When her head tilted up - with an obnoxious ray of sunlight striking her deep auburn eyes - she squinted and he could see the dark patches of her smeared eyeshadow. “There wasn’t an option on the form to select a time of day for the call to take place.”

He watched her as she gingerly tugged her jacket on, pulling it straight as she avoided further contact with the early morning sunlight.

“Come on,” He said in a softer, gentler tone. “I’ve got your bail, lets get out of here.”

“Thank you, officer.” She smiled sweetly at the man as he slid the bars aside but turned her glare to David when he grasped her upper arm gruffly and tugged her toward the hall. 

“This is getting ridiculous, Regina.” He hissed, referring to her current predicament and the fact that he was up at an ungodly hour, sporting loafers, a pair of worn sweat pants and a university hoodie that had a hole in the right armpit he could fit three fingers through.

“Oh get off your high horse, Prince Charming.” She spat, reefing her arm free and storming ahead of him. The sound of her heels heading from concrete to faded linoleum only halted when she stopped to collect her things.

When her overstuffed handbag was handed to her over the counter, the first thing she did was dig for a packet of cigarettes. He studied her as she smacked the base of the packet against her palm, knocking out a smoke and lifting it to hold between her plump lips; the lipstick worn down to a faint line of ruby red at the corners of her mouth.

“You coming, or what?” She spoke around the cigarette, shoving the forms back across the counter to the awaiting clerk without even looking at what she was signing.

She’d been there so many times, he was fairly certain she could quote the sign-out sheet in her sleep; on a few occasions, when she was really drunk and flaked out on his couch, he was somewhat certain that she had.

“You know, Mary’s going to have my hide for bailing you out again.” He commented, holding the door for her as they stepped out of the building; looking at her out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she shoved a pair of sunglasses over her protesting eyes before lighting up her cigarette.

“You know what,” She blew a puff of smoke in his face. David just rolled his eyes and fanned the cloud of acrid poison away. “Your little goodie two shoes girlfriend can kiss my ass, David.”

David let out a long breath, clenching his teeth to prevent himself from leaping to Mary-Margaret’s defence. He knew the two women had their issues and he knew, as long as one remained the love of his life and the other, his best friend; he was going to be trapped right in the middle of their little feud. It was better for his sanity to say nothing.

Neither of them had ever told him what it was that had sparked the hate they had for each other, but he knew that Regina’s bitterness was laced with malice, whilst Mary’s was weighed down with an almost tangible guilt.

“Where is the little princess, anyway?” She released another long drag of smoke, picking at a fleck of tobacco that came free of the filter, from the edge of her lip. Asking the question even though he knew she didn’t care for the answer.

“She’s at her Dad’s,” He started and noticed how Regina’s shoulders visibly stilled. She didn’t stop walking, but her posture had gone rigid and the hand that raised her cigarette to her lips shook just slightly.

“Right,” Her voice croaked and David put it down to spending half the night in a dusty cell, warmed to her bones by two-thirds of a bottle of vodka chased by an innumerable number of Jaeger bombs. Not to mention that the crowd the previous night had actually called for the rarity of an encore, leaving her hoarse even before she’d started on the shots.

“The car’s this way,” He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb; back to the carpark with the keys dangling from his hand as she started to head in the opposite direction.

“I think i’ll walk,” She waved her hand over her head, not looking back. “Thanks for the bail-out.”

“Your place is over a mile away.” He shouted after her but Regina ignored him, setting out along the pavement, leaving a trail of smoke in her wake.

 

**

“Do you think she’s gonna show tonight?” Emma asked, hefting a crate of vodka bottles onto the scuffed wooden bar and looking across to Neal. His dark-rimmed eyes blinked, a thought passing through as he opened his mouth to respond.

“She’ll be fine.” David stated as he walked past, effectively cutting off any response Neal may have had.

“You don’t know that.” Emma shared a look with Neal before racing off after David. “How many nights has it been? Three, four? She’s getting more and more unreliable.”

“She’ll be here.”

“Last night was a fluke, David.” Emma grumbled. “The fact that she didn’t stuff up the lyrics was also a fucking blessing,” She tilted her head. “The vodka bottle on the stage was a bit of a let down, but come on.”

David didn’t mention that he’d spent the morning at the police station, talking the cops out of hitting Regina up for repeat offence charges. He knew she was on her last legs as far as Emma and Mary were concerned and admitting he’d bailed the woman out yet again, was not going to go very far towards clearing her reputation.

“She’s going through a lot.”

“Of alcohol.” She groused and David narrowed his eyes down at her.

“What do you want me to do, Emma? I know you two don’t get along all that well, and I know you hate to admit it, but she’s the one they come to see.”

Emma rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest and jutting out her lip almost petulantly, looking away from him like he was her father, scolding her for speaking out of turn.

“She’s spiralling out of control.”

David released a long breath. “She’s had a lot on her plate, this will pass.”

“Before or after you find her dead in her living room, face-down in her own vomit?” She looked at him in askance and David released a sigh.

“It won’t come to that.”

“Yeah, well, you’d better hope it doesn’t because I’m pretty sure this whole thing you’ve got going on where you insist on holding Regina’s hand for everything is eventually going to tire Mary out.”

David narrowed his eyes. “Has she said something to you?”

“No,” Emma tilted her chin up, defiantly. “But it’s obvious, David, you’re eventually going to have to choose and we both know, if Regina doesn’t clean up her act, the one who’s really going to suffer, is you.”

Emma stormed off, kicking over a broken light fixture with her heavy, heeled boot as she headed back towards the bar.

David slumped down on an overturned milk-crate, dropping his shoulders and scrubbing a hand over his face as though the weight was starting to finally get to him, weighing him down to the ground with the struggles of keeping both Regina and his own relationship, afloat.

Emma was right, he knew that; but he couldn’t help but feel Regina needed more time. Ever since they were kids, banging drums in her foster parents garage, he’d known Regina was an emotional person; but she always wanted for love.

Since high school she’d talked a tough game, her dark makeup a poor mask for a sadness more potent than he could imagine. When she’d found Daniel, he thought that it was finally her chance to be happy - to kick aside the scars of her youth and finally be able to really smile.

The only times he’d ever seen pure joy in her eyes was when she was singing; or when she was looking at Daniel.

He’d held her to his chest, his broad hand tangled in her hair as she’d sobbed, smelling of her foster father’s christmas scotch with tracks of mascara pouring down her face. He’d wrapped her in his coat, guarding her from the chill as they’d lowered Daniel’s body into the ground.

She didn’t talk about that night; she didn’t talk about Daniel at all. But David knew Regina and he knew that she was hurting. It may have been over a year but he still felt the stab of pain in his heart when he looked into her eyes to see they were empty.

Empty, hollow and cold.

He knew she was still in there, somewhere; he could still see that same old beauty in her when she sang the old songs. Her eyes would light up like she’d slipped back in time, taking her heart to a place where it wasn’t so irrevocably broken.

He was the last person in the world capable of telling her it was time to move on, but he feared he was the only one that could.

 

**

Killian dragged himself and his duffle out of the taxi, carefully counting out the fare dollar for dollar and tossing each note onto the passenger seat. The driver gave him a narrow glare, clearly sporting for his tip; when none was forthcoming he cursed the frugality of the Irish under his breath and pulled away from the curb with a screech of burning rubber on asphalt. 

Killian flipped the man two fingers, screwing up his nose as the car peeled around the corner. Dropping his bag to the ground at his feet, he looked around for the best spot to find an inexpensive place to sleep; but seeing there was a club far closer to him than the nearest motel - it’s glowing vacancy sign standing tall at least three blocks away - he tossed his duffle over his shoulder and decided he’d start first with a pint.

With his drumsticks in his back pocket and his duffle over his shoulder, Killian looked up at the facade of the old building; the old red bricks were scored and flaking. What little of the render that still remained was riddled with cracks, chips and stained orange from the rusting downpipes.

The sign that ran down the front of the building, glittering with the glow of it’s curious title, flickered on the letter A, alternating between ‘The Carlyle’ and ‘The C rlyle’. He smirked, turning his eyes to the fire exit just to the side of the building, jutting out over the alley.

He could hear voices filtering down; they were angry, shouting back and forth with gestures so sweeping he thought the woman was about to go flying over the rail with how hard she was waving her arms. The man just stood there, arms crossed over his chest, silent as a church mouse as he took the verbal tirade.

Killian tilted his head, curious, but decided to spare the couple their dignity and gift his rumbling stomach with a stout ale and a packet of crisps. He would have liked a hot meal, but with his budget being what it was, the choice between beer quality and nutritional appetisers was a no-brainer.

He was met at the door by a pretty brunette, her long hair was curled at the ends and her shorts riding so high on her fishnet-clad thighs he wasn’t sure they counted as shorts. Everything she wore was red, from her makeup to her tank-top to those leather shorts. She added almost a foot to her height with platformed stilettos but even though she wasn’t his type, he smiled broadly in her direction, thanking her for taking his duffle and exchanging it with a pre-loved ticket stub.

“Welcome to Neverland,” She smirked, fluttering her lashes as he stepped past her.

“Thanks,” He muttered, winking his eye and continuing on into the club.

 

**

 

“Regina, we’re on in five.” David called through the door of the dressing room. Regina barely looked up from her toes, perched on the edge of the coffee table where a pile of small aluminium foil squares sat stacked on each other beside a half-empty bottle of Smirnoff. Setting his eyes on the display, he signed. “Really?”

“Who are you, my mother?” She slurred, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Can you even go on in this state?”

Regina pulled herself to her feet, bumping the table with her shin as she pushed past it. One of the untouched baggies spilled onto the floor, leaving a faint dusting of the stark white powder. She didn’t notice, staggering past David in shoes a lesser woman would have already twisted her ankle in, with a slap to his shoulder.

“I’m fine.” She promised, patting him once again for good measure before heading out into the hall. David just sighed, letting his shoulders sag. He surveyed the room with his eyes; her clothes were everywhere. Shoes were scattered across the floor with the remnants of cracked pistachio shells, some M&Ms ground into the carpet and the contents of her handbag half buried under the small sofa.

Her cigarettes, vodka and an old credit card lay in the wasteland of white powder on the glass table top and her favourite leather jacket was dangling off the back of her chair. The place was a mess and it made his heart sink.

 

**

 

“Pint o’ lager please.” Killian grinned over the bar, winking his eye at the lean blonde in the tight button down black vest, setting a shot of absinthe alight on the edge of the bar.

“Sure,” She responded over the din, grabbing the customer’s money off the counter before heading his way. “You’re Irish, right?” She questioned as she pulled on the lager tap, not even bothering to look into the glass. Killian’s eyebrows rose, impressed, as she pulled the entire pint without breaking eye contact, bouncing on her heels proudly as she slid the glass across the counter.

“Thanks,” He scratched his cheek. “And yeah, born and raised.”

“Hot.”

“I’m Killian.”

“Emma.” She held her hand out to shake and Killian took it, glancing over her shoulder as he noticed the small sign written in chalk behind the bar. 

“You’ve got open mic night?”

“Wednesdays and Sundays.” She nodded. “You sing?”

“No,” He chuckled, reaching behind himself to drag his drumsticks from his back pocket and strum them on the bar. “But I play.”

“Maybe you should come back on Sunday then,” She smirked. “Tonight’s all about the Royals, so you’ll have to wait in line.”

“The Royals?” He questioned, watching her long blonde ponytail bob as she dashed towards the other end of the bar to serve a customer before heading back towards him with a wicked turn of her lip.

“Yeah, they’re local legends really. Almost hit it big a few months ago,” She met his eye for a moment, seemingly stopping herself from carrying the story too far. She cleared her throat, glancing away from him before looking him in the eye again. “you should really hang around for a listen, they’re pretty good.”

“Perhaps I will.”

Emma smirked, watching him tapping his drumsticks on the edge of the bar, against the beat of the music currently playing. “Who knows,” She grinned. “they’re looking for a new drummer, if you’re good.”

“Who knows indeed, love.”

Killian spun around on his stool, continuing the made-up beat against his outer thighs as he watched the crowds shuffling in. The bar crammed for a time, shouts hollering over the top of shouts as the blonde and her colleague - a broad shouldered man who touched her hips with familiarity as they passed each other in the tight space - filled orders in every direction.

Drinks were carried onto the narrow dance-floor, and arms were raised to the ceiling as the music came to an abrupt halt and the club was shrouded in darkness.

Killian’s eyes closed with rapture the moment her voice came out over the sound system. The club remained in darkness but it didn’t matter all that much to him as he listened, taken in completely by the first few bars.

It sounded like salted caramel, sweet and sultry, but strong. The sound coiled in the back of her throat, swirling like dragons fire, before she let each sound free, one by one; one burn would heal before another note would char his skin.

The lights erupted and his eyes shot open, resting on the posed woman stage centre; a strum of the electric guitar, two shots of fireworks that fizzled by the side of the stage. By the looks of the place, he could see they were lucky to afford even that, but the quality of her voice wasn’t tainted by the lack of fanfare.

There was another pause, a bar of silence as she stood with her eyes cast down. She was a vision in black leather, buckles and the faintest touch of a lilac bra beneath her oversized tank-top, featuring ‘The Clash’ for one night only’.

He could see the tattoo against her ribcage but he couldn’t see what it was. As she jumped to the beat of the music, singing to the adoring crowd of writhing bodies, undulating like a tide, he could feel the slow burn crawl up his neck.

A heeled boot, impossibly high, pressed to the top of a stage level speaker as she threw her head back, her body arching with the strength of her voice, her mic cord resting on the swell of her breast as he watched the smooth lines of her throat struck by the force of the spotlight. She tapped at the mic, each finger adorned with heavy silver rings, tapping along to the beat to keep her in time.

She strutted across the stage and Killian was mesmerised. He’d halted his strumming long ago, holding his drumsticks still against his thighs as she paraded across the narrow stage to the tune of a reworked Stones classic. She bounced at the centre, encouraging the crowd to copy her movements as she did Mick Jagger far more justice than he did himself.

When she disappeared from the stage after three sets and a brief call back, he felt a piece of his heart was lost. He tried to grasp for it, clenching his fist against the open edges of his plaid shirt, clinging to the long silver chain that rested there. But it was no use. An emptiness had overcome him in the brief pause between her band’s departure and the sound of the DJ coming back to close out the night.

“The Royals,” Emma stated as he turned back around, mouth still partly hanging open. “Told you they were pretty good.”

Killian blinked up at her. “What is her name?”

“Who, the lead?” Emma eyed him, continuing to scrub a glass with a tea towel. “You don’t want to know.”

“I think I do.”

“She’s more work than she looks.”

“Please just tell me.”

Emma sighed, resting the glass down on the counter with a brief expression that he couldn’t quite place. She was about to open her mouth to answer, when her attention was stolen over his left shoulder; her eyes blinking wide as though she’d been caught in the act of something deplorable.

“Regina, Hi.” She greeted; her tone overcompensating for the fact the woman they had just been talking about, currently had her chest pressed to his shoulder in the loud, crowded club. Killian studied her profile as her dark eyes surveyed the blonde with suspicion.

“One.” Was all she said, raising her finger that was decorated with the elaborate head of an elephant, to emphasise her request.

Emma rolled her eyes. “You already had one, Regina.”

“Don’t piss me off, Swan.” She growled and Killian could feel the vibration like a cat’s purr, where her sternum pressed into his shoulder.

“Just give it to her, babe,” The other bar tender, the man with the broad arms and grabby hands, made a reappearance. “David’s out back, he’ll make sure she doesn’t go through the whole thing, right Regina?”

As he spoke, Emma pulled a full bottle of vodka from below the counter, setting it on the bar with unnecessary force. Regina waited, eyeing the pair, until she had her lean fingers - painted with harsh black polish - wrapped around the neck of the bottle.

“Nice to know you two lightweights care for my continued good health,” She sneered and Killian could tell the comment was anything but sincere. “But David can kiss my ass.” She said with venom before dragging the bottle from the bar and turning on her heel.

“She’s beautiful.” Killian sighed and Emma’s companion let out a snort of laughter.

“If raging alcoholics with anger management issues are your thing, she’s totally hot.” He chuckled, wandering off down the bar to serve a waving customer. Emma sighed, meeting Killian’s eye with a gentleness that mirrored her softer tone.

“Neal’s not wrong, but Regina’s not so bad,” She sighed. “She does have some issues and it’s not really my place to say, but she has a good heart, under all that,” She paused, gesturing with her hands, searching for just the right word. “aggression.”

Killian continued to watch the woman as she tripped on her own foot, pushing past the heavy velvet curtain and disappearing behind the stage. He looked back to Emma, his eyes pleading.

“I need to talk to her.”

“Seriously, now is not the best time.”

“Come on,” He whined but Emma shook her head.

“David would never go for having you back there and Regina’s not gonna come out again tonight.”

“Who’s David, her boyfriend?”

She scrunched up her nose. “More like a big brother. He was the guy on bass,” Emma looked at him sympathetically, resting her elbows on the bar. “He’s crazy protective. You should wait for Sunday. She’ll be here.”

Killian sighed dejectedly, resting his empty glass on the counter and watching it go as Emma picked it up and rested it in the sink.

“Get some sleep, go out, see the city and come back on Sunday.”

“Know any good places to sleep?”

“What’s your budget?” She smirked.

Killian turned his pockets inside out, counting out his notes and coins with a frown. “Twenty five bucks and a linty Oreo.”

Emma chuckled. “Granny’s, over on ninth. Tell her I sent you.”

“How do I get there?”

“Three blocks, turn right; you’ll know it when you see it.”

To Be Continued.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to shipping questions. I won't be stating categorically, what ship this story will end up being because I am trying to show respect and do justice to all three ships listed on this fic (also, I see answering questions of that nature, as reading the last page of a book before you start and I won't ever do that). I love Hooked Queen, Evil Charming and Outlaw Queen and I wanted to do a story where each of those ships is given it's proper weight, importance and respect. It is not a love triangle and not a single one of these men will be discarded without care. Please, if you're enjoying this story, enjoy it on it's merits and I hope you can stick with it and appreciate the story I'm telling.
> 
> Side note: I've also never written smut before. So here we go with this little social experiment.

“David, I’m ready to go.” Mary-Margaret called through the open door. David was sitting across from Regina, doing his best to snatch the bottle of vodka from her vice-like grip but she wouldn’t budge, instead, pressing the sole of her boot to his chest and pushing back against the sofa. Mary rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

David looked up at Mary. “I’ll just be a sec.” 

“Well, I’m leaving so if you want to stay with Regina tonight, be my guest, but the door will be locked when you get home.”

“Mary!” He whined and Regina made kissy faces from her spot, reclining so far back in the sofa her chin was on her chest and a broad grin had spread on her face.

“Better run David, or you’ll be sleeping with Pongo.” She mocked and David made another grab for the bottle as Regina raised it to her lips. The mention of his neighbour’s dog earning her and eyeroll.

“Come on, Regina, give it to me.”

“Bye David, night Succubus.” Mary waved over her head, disappearing out the door.

“Night,” Regina struggled for an appropriate comeback, opening and closing her mouth with indignation before settling for taking yet another swig of straight vodka.

“Mary, wait!” David called but she kept walking, her floral skater dress clashing against the dingy walls with the peeling wallpaper.

“I’ll be fine, David.” Regina spoke gently, her voice far more serious than he often heard her, especially when she was in this state. He turned to look in her eyes, sucking in his bottom lip with worry before he quickly stood up.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go on,” She waved her hand nonchalantly. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll go straight home, no detours?”

Regina fluttered her eyelashes innocently as she nodded her head. “I promise.” Her voice sounded far too saccharinely sweet to be genuine and David paused, watching her out of the corner of his eye before he patted her knee affectionately, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Just be good, okay.”

“Yes, Daddy.” She mocked and David sighed before grabbing his coat and chasing after Mary-Margaret.

 

**

 

Killian sat on the front stoop of the kitsch building, emblazoned with the lop-sided insignia of ‘Granny’s B&B’. The same girl he’d met, doused from head to toe in Ruby Red, had greeted him at the door with a broad smile and a wink of her eye. He’d established her name as Ruby - apt, he thought, considering her attire - who was the granddaughter of the landlady; a harsh-faced older woman with a stiff bun on the back of her head and a long gold chain fastening her reading glasses around her neck.

He was given a room facing the train-tracks that rattled for five minutes when a twenty-four car cargo train barrelled by. But, with a genuine smile, Ruby insisted the room had the most reliable shower and so he took it - and the offer of holding the room on credit until he could find work - with a nod of his head and genuine thanks.

He swiped his lighter up and down the palm of his hand, flicking it open and igniting the flame before slapping it shut again. A cigarette hung from his lip but he hadn’t yet lit it, too busy lost in his thoughts of the dark-haired beauty he’d seen on the stage.

The world was quieter there, sitting on the stoop with his heavy boots set wide apart on the lower step. He raised the lighter to his lips, finally about to light up his cigarette when he heard the screech of breaks just a few metres down the road. Obscured by the high, unkept hedges, he couldn’t see what the commotion was about but with the bright yellow fender poking through the thick foliage, he could deduce it was a taxi prematurely offloading an obnoxious fare.

Killian stuffed his unlit cigarette and his lighter in the pocket of his leather jacket as he jogged down the steps, heading straight down the garden path to the street. What he saw when he rounded the hedge made him chuckle, smirking as he rolled on the balls of his feet.

“I didn’t light it in your taxi, you bastard, it’s not even lit!” She shrieked at the driver who sat, eyes ahead and unwilling to hear her complaints. “God damnit!” She cried, tossing her handbag out the open door as Killian slowly strolled towards her, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.

He watched her struggling to light up a smoke, missing the mark entirely on the first few attempts and nearly searing the deep black polish straight off her fingernail. “Fuck,” She grumbled under her breath with one heeled boot securely on the pavement, the other still inside the taxi and her eyes set on the contents of her bag, spilled across the concrete.

“Don’t think I’m paying you, you prejudiced asshole.” The scathing remark had Killian’s eyes jump to the driver for a moment before looking back to her. She was clearly drunk and quite possibly high - on what, he couldn’t know - but she wasn’t so far gone that she was being entirely unreasonable; obnoxious perhaps, but he could see the driver wasn’t in the mood to be patient for someone like her.

“Regina, wasn’t it?” Killian moved to stand in front of her, ensuring his boots were in her line of sight as she dropped from the taxi and started gathering her things together.

“Maybe,” She mumbled as she checked her phone screen was still intact, took a drag of her cigarette and continued stuffing makeup and various things back into her bag. 

Killian pulled a few notes from his pocket - his last twenty dollars - and tossed it on the front seat of the cab. “I suggest you head off, mate.” He gestured with his thumb and the taxi driver gave him a brief look of contempt before he peeled away from the curb.

“What’d you do?” Killian asked, as he attempted to help her pick up her things.

“Nothing,” She spat. “The bastard called me a stupid, drunk, spic and you expect that I did something?”

“No,” Killian said gently as he watched her so near to tears, shoving CDs, jewellery and a thick, well-loved, purple diary back into her bag. “I’m sorry, I was just making conversation.”

“Wrong tact,” She grumbled, still avoiding looking up at him at all. “I’m Latina, anyway, that ignorant dick.”

Killian frowned. “Where do you live?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I’m just wondering if I should call you another cab.”

“I can walk, thank you.” She struggled to her feet, stumbling on her heels for a moment and dropping the cigarette from her lips “Fuck”. It hit the concrete with a spark, tumbling away from her. Killian watched it roll for a moment before turning back to her to see she was already digging through her bag for another.

“Do you want to sit with me for a bit to calm down?” For the first time since she tumbled out of the cab, she looked up at him. She studied him for a moment, with her dark brown eyes set on the ocean blue of his own as she blinked. 

“What do you care?”

“Irish hospitality, love.” He winked. She hesitated for a moment before nodding her head lightly and following him back to the stoop. She gingerly sat down, smiling nervously around her cigarette as he offered her his lighter.

“Thanks,” She spoke softly, dragging a half-empty bottle of vodka from what seemed to be an entirely bottomless handbag. “Want some?”

“It’s not Rum, but what the hell.” He took the bottle and took a long swig before handing it back to her.

“So what is a fresh-off-the-boat irishman doing camped out on Granny’s lawn?” Regina questioned, raising the bottle back to her own lips. He couldn’t help but notice the long, black lashes framing beautiful, dark chestnut eyes or the way her full, burgundy lips caressed the mouth of the bottle. Her nose was rounded but delicate and the line of her jaw was square but not sharp. She had a gentle profile, when she was calm like this; quietly looking straight out towards the empty street.

“You know Mrs Lucas?” He frowned.

Regina nodded. “It’s a small town,” Killian gave her a look and for a moment he thought she was actually going to chuckle; they both knew Los Angeles was anything but a small town. “She’s also Ruby’s gran and she’s probably one of the few people in this town that doesn’t think I’m a lost cause.”

“Your friends seemed pretty adamant about that guy appreciating your qualities.”

“David?” She eyed him and Killian shrugged.

“He’s biased.”

“Ex-boyfriend?” Killian smirked but it fell away when her eyes dropped to her toes and her voice fell quiet.

“Ex-husband.”

The pair fell silent; nothing could be heard but the faint sound of traffic and a siren where the quiet street they were sitting on, met with the boulevard. Regina continued to study her toes and Killian found a fascination in the studded boots as well, if only to wait patiently on her to breech the tension. When he realised that a continuation of the conversation was not forthcoming on her end, he cleared his throat.

“I wanted a change,” He shrugged, looking away. “Things aren’t great back home, in more ways than one.”

“That’s fair enough.” 

They fell into silence again, sharing the bottle and staring up at the stars. Killian tried to avoid gazing at her because he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. But the night was balmy and when she slipped off her leather jacket, he found it hard to look away.

Her arms were toned but not muscly; for a rocker with identity issues, she had quite the profile. He curled his fingers in on themselves down by his hip, repressing the compulsion to pull the strap of her tank-top aside so that he could study the detail of the tattoo he could barely make out. He was sure that just by the underwire of her bra there was a rose, but he could also see the stem of an apple and he found himself curious to learn how far down her ribs the artwork went.

He found himself cataloging her tattoos, wanting desperately to touch his fingertips to the dark red rose on the inside of her left forearm or the delicate feather on the inside of her right wrist.

He glanced down at his own forearm, seeing the edges of his own regrets poking out from beneath his rolled up sleeve. He didn’t regret the artwork, like he’d never regretted any of his tattoos; they were footprints on his life. What he did regret was how things had ended with him and the woman who’s face and name were forever imprinted on his flesh.

He loved her and he probably always would. But that love would never be enough to forget what she’d done to him. So he wore it with pride to remember, that he’d loved and lost and that he was strong enough to do it again were he to be given the chance.

“Do they have stories?” He questioned and Regina flinched, looking up into his eyes. She blinked for a moment, unsure of the question before she realised he was looking down at her wrist.

“They do.”

“Will you tell me?”

“No.” Regina cleared her throat, pressing her palm to the step to raise herself to her feet. “I should go.”

“Stay.” He said suddenly and quietly, looking up at her from where he continued to sit. Regina stopped moving and studied him closely, shaking her head before looking out to the street. “You don’t want that.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Right now, I’m nothing but Vodka.”

“Then stay with me until you’re not.”

Regina sighed, tilting her head up to the stars. “You don’t want that either.”

“Has anyone seen her, lately? The woman without the vodka.” He enquired softly and watched as her shoulders raised and lowered with a deep sigh. 

“No.”

Regina flinched when she felt gentle hands against the cool skin of her shoulders, shivering under the callouses of a drummer. Her shoulders sagged, dropping her back against his chest as she closed her eyes, letting his face morph behind her eyes to that of a man she’d tried to forget. A man who had those same callouses in the same places, who touched her with that same tenderness.

“Stay.” He breathed into her ear and she was just drunk enough to imagine the voice without the irish lilt. He smelled of Rum and cigarettes, but she blocked that out in favour of remembering Daniel’s eyes.

“Okay,” Her voice shuddered as his hands drifted down her arms; his fingers curling around her hand before dragging her back towards the door into Granny’s. He held his finger to his lips as he lead her through the back door, tripped on the stairs without realising just how much vodka they’d consumed before the pair staggered through the squeaking door to his room. 

He flicked the lock as she stumbled over her own foot, tripping against him and dragging her nails up his stomach in the dark, pulling his shirt up as a result. She grinned with her tongue sticking out between her teeth, tugging him towards her with fistfuls of his shirt. “Bed’s over there...” He gestured.

“So,” She smirked mischievously, gripping the back of his head through his thick raven hair and silencing him with a bruising kiss as she backed up to the rickety desk that sat against the window. With nimble hands he grasped her thighs, lifting her to sit on the desk. Regina didn’t waste any time depriving him of his shirt; before he’d even tossed it over his head her lips were forming a ragged path across his toned chest and down the valley between the muscles of his stomach.

Killian gripped her head in both hands without concern for the state of her hair, ravishing her mouth before biting down on her lip; her small hands worked at his belt and then, in turn, the zipper on his jeans. 

The small desk bumped against the window frame but neither cared. Regina’s stretched and oversized tank-top tumbled out the open window and for a moment she paused, watching it tumble all the way to the grass below before she turned around frantically tugging at the buttons on her jeans. “Let me.” He spoke calmly, resting his hands atop hers. She looked up, meeting his gentle eyes and for a moment, her mind was clear and she knew it wasn’t him.

He seemed to see the moment, stilling his hands and waiting for her to make a decision. Regina’s mind was foggy, her eyes drifted in and out of focus as she looked up at him. Their hands remained motionless as she looked deep into his blue eyes, feeling the pain well up inside her at the truth that the man within who’s arms she sat, was not her Daniel.

With nails digging into his flesh, Killian hissed as she pulled him towards her, gripping his biceps and clawing her way back up to steal his breath with her full lips. He took that as his cue, pulling her to her feet he helped her tug her jeans off, letting her kick them aside along with her boots before he gripped her thighs again. His strong, rough fingers dug into supple, tan skin as he pulled her legs to wrap around his waist. Regina’s arms went around his shoulder, clinging to him and he could feel the heel of her bare foot digging into the back of his thigh.

“Don’t speak,” She rasped with her nose bent against his cheek and her lips, pulling across his with teeth bared. She was breathless, feeling his deft fingers with those maddening callouses, tugging at the hem of her panties. “Get them off, but don’t speak.”

He knew the look in her eyes, that same longing he felt in his own heart; that the hands that touched her belonged to someone else. He knew what she was doing because he’d tried it before. She was trapped in there with him - whoever he was - and his heart, no matter how fogged from the alcohol, broke for her. “I can be him, if you need that.”

“Shut up!” She growled, smothering his mouth in a feverish kiss, bumping her teeth against his. She clawed at his arms, pulling her slight frame closer to him as he unclasped her bra with one hand.

She threw her head back, resting her crown against the window frame as he left a trail of hot, wet kisses down her throat. He followed the line of her collar-bone with his lips and tongue, biting and soothing the red welts he was sure to leave with gentle kisses as he pulled the thin straps of her lilac bra down her arms and tossed it aside.

Regina hissed through gritted teeth, arching her back as he took her pert nipple into his mouth; sucking on it hard he let it go with a pop and the cool night air from the open window, hitting her taut, wet flesh, sent a chill right down to her core.

She was bare beneath him, her back arched and one hand pressed firmly to the wobbly old desk and the other holding tight to his neck. His strong arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her stomach firmly to his. She had one leg pulled up to his hip, her knee tucked in tight against his waist whilst the toes of her other foot struggled to touch the floor with each rock the desk took on it’s unsteady foundations.

Killian still had his jeans on, un-zipped and hanging open with the elastic of his boxers peering up over his open fly. Regina slipped herself forward on the desk, the toes of both feet just barely touching the hideous floral carpet, rocking her hips to get closer to him as she tugged at his jeans and boxers in one.

He stole a kiss, tilting her head up to meet him with his hand at the back of her head, gripping a fistful of her hair; momentarily stealing her attention as he kicked his jeans and boxers away. On instinct, her small hands raised to his chest; dark nails drew eight red lines down across his muscles until they tangled in the course hairs that started at his belly-button.

Her breath hitched as his nails dug into her hips. He held on tight as she reached down between them, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as her small, strong hands, wrapped around him. 

This wasn’t a game to her, he knew; she wasn’t in the mood to play or smile or let him bring her to tears of laughter into his shoulder. It was to be hard and fast and dare he think it, painful. It was to remember and to forget and he knew he should have stopped a million times over. But she held his cock in the palm of her hand; her cheek was pressed to his chin and her eyes hidden from him as she stroked him. His eyes rolled back in his head and he could feel the skin of his cheeks heating up with each stroke.

“Don’t talk, please.” Her voice was a whisper but he heard it all the same. She didn’t want him to ask her if she was okay, she didn’t want him to tell her she could stop if she wanted. She didn’t want him to let her know that he was caring, more and more with every touch.

So he didn’t talk. He dipped his head to press his lips to hers once more, smothering her gasp for breath as he pressed his thumb to her clit. Her hips bucked, thrusting into his hand and she let go of him, throwing her hands back to grip the window frame.

Their kisses became frantic and messy; he missed her mouth more than once as one hand played with her nipple and the other thrust two fingers inside her and caused her to squirm and thrash beneath him. “Now,” She breathed against his earlobe, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. “Now, please.” 

He held her in his broad hands, suspended over the small desk with a palm at her hip and one between her shoulder-blades as she guided him into her. She let out a long, shaky breath, biting down on his shoulder as he stilled inside her. “I’m okay,” She shuddered. “I’m okay.” She dug her teeth in harder as he started to move, licking her lips as he increased their pace and she threw her head back again.

The knocking of the desk against the window frame became almost rhythmic, banging in perfect contrast to the slap of hot, wet flesh. She could feel the heat burning beneath her skin, the friction of their bodies; of coarse hair against olive flesh igniting the fire low in her belly.

Killian tried to stifle her cries with kisses, but with each breath another escaped, muffled against his neck, his jaw, the undulating muscles of his broad bicep.

She raked her nails down his forearms before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling herself closer to him. The angle of his thrust changed with the movement and she gasped into his mouth; her legs shook and her toes curled and he grunted into her shoulder.

Regina buried her face in the crook of his neck as he rocked them; the heavy thumping hidden by the fortuitous passing of a cargo-train. He could feel the soft tendrils of her hair tickling his sweat dampened shoulder as her cries became more frequent and he could feel her walls tightening around him. 

She was finding it harder and harder to control her legs; her knees twitching at his hips and her back, arching in his hands. Suddenly and without warning she cried out, gripping his biceps with iron talons as she rode out the wave of ecstasy intended to dampen the ache in her heart.

Her eyes glazed over for a moment; her tongue groggily running across her upper lip as she sunk back into the desk, sated and breathing heavily. He didn’t let her go, though. Clinging to her desperately, he held her small frame tightly in his hands.

He could feel her fingers against the line of his hips, drawing absent circles across the prominent line of his muscles.

“Stay,” He breathed, speaking for the first time since she’d begged him not to. Regina turned her eyes away, letting her hair fall in her face and fighting the hitch in her breath at the feeling of him slipping free of her. “Stay.”

She didn’t answer, but she let him hold her, keeping the warmth between them as a cool breeze broke through the window and the sheer, white curtains brushed against her shoulders.

To Be Continued.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should note that I work for a very large company that does it's main business over the Christmas period, hence why I've been rather silent of late (I've been working a lot). Heading into January, fic will be more frequent, I hope.

Killian woke slowly, blinking rapidly as the sun hit his face. He was sleeping with his face to the window, crediting Ruby with a faint smile as beams of golden sunlight crept across the carpet that was as hideous in the day as it had been the night before. The bed linen wasn’t far better, improved only by the soft olive skin curled amongst the sheets beside him.

She groaned, covering her face with her forearm in order to remain asleep. No doubt she had a hangover as his own head wasn’t entirely clear and she’d had far more to drink than he had. He watched her for a moment, waiting for her to wake but when she didn’t - lying on her back with her upper half and one leg exposed above the sheets - he grinned.

Killian pulled himself up onto his elbow, smirking at the feeble attempt she’d made to shield her eyes and the adorable frown that creased her brow. He took the unguarded chance to study her from the top of her head to her toes, cataloging scars and tattoos and her near-invisible tan-line.

Beneath the arm she had raised to her head, he realised there was a thin line of text that ran from her armpit to her hip, across the strong ripples of her ribs. “There’s no such thing as happily ever after.” Is what it read and he found himself looking to her face, wondering if it’s what she truly believed or if it was the product of a heart broken one too many times.

He smirked, noticing that the roses and apples he’d seen the night before was an intricately detailed vine that covered the majority of her left rib, touching the curve beneath her breast and disappearing behind her shoulder. 

He trailed his finger gently along a vine leaf, smiling as she squirmed away, ticklish under his touch. She didn’t pull away and he took that as invitation to continue his ministrations. He followed the stem of the vine until it ended at the base of her ribs, letting his finger trace it’s own pattern down, circling around her belly button, across her hip and down until his whole palm covered the heart she had inside an ornate crown on the front of her left thigh.

There was a ribbon across the crown within which there was a line of text that made his lips quirk.

“Queen of nothing.”

His heart ached for her, wondering what part of her heart these images and words had stemmed from.

Regina’s eyes fluttered open slightly, protesting against the bright sunlight that was streaming across the room, casting golden shadows across their bodies; soaking the stark white sheets in golds and yellows and warmth. For a brief moment she smiled at him; it was a soft, sated smile that touched her eyes and glittered before him like a star. He returned it, dropping his eyes to her lips for just a moment, wishing to kiss those lips just once more.

He followed the line of her throat down, catching a glimpse of the faint red marks that marred her flesh; a sure sign that the previous night hadn’t been a dream. Her chest rose and fell, breathing deeply and uncaring of how she lay bare before him.

It was then that he saw it. Entirely unadorned and lacking in the fanfare and colour of the rest of her artwork, situated low on her sternum in the valley of her breasts and small enough to disappear beneath the wire of any bra she could wear, was the most unremarkable of tattoos. It was small, able to be covered by the pad of his thumb and consisted of a thin-lined love heart with a single name inside.

He looked into her eyes for a moment, attempting to read her expression but it was entirely blank. Her smile was gone, replaced with a blank, distant stare; building up to a wall that was about to shut down. 

Never having been a man of tact, nor a master of thought before speech, he asked the question that lingered on his lips like a curse.

“Who’s Henry?”

Regina’s expression closed off. For the split-second between the moment she registered his question and her decision to flee, he saw the tears that welled in her eyes. He thought for a moment that Henry may have been the man she had envisioned the previous night; the man that in her mind, she’d been kissing instead of him. But her reaction was far too violent for the two men to be the same.

At the name she was scrambling from the bed, not even meeting his eye. “I have to go.” She muttered, tugging on her jeans without even caring for the panties she couldn’t even find. She pulled her bra on, remembering suddenly - with an eye at the window - that her shirt had tumbled to the first floor. 

Killian tripped out of the bed after her, getting tangled in the sheets as he desperately tried to follow. “Regina, wait!” He called, stumbling over the sheet as he tried to pull on a pair of sweat pants, tripping down the stairs as she dashed away from him, clutching her handbag to cover her chest.

Granny was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for her guests and at the sound of thumping on the stairs she turned, with a spatula in her hand, just in time to see Regina stumble to the base of the stairs. 

Regina froze where she was for a moment and the two women shared a look; in her eyes, Granny could see the pain she’d seen far too often in Regina’s eyes. She knew it all too well. “Regina!” She shouted, dropping her spatula to the countertop as the young woman dashed for the front door.

Seconds later Killian came bumbling down the stairs, grasping for the front door to desperately chase after her. “Don’t.” Granny halted him with her strong hand on his bicep. He tried to shake free of her but she wouldn’t release him; standing firm as they watched Regina dash around the outside of the house - her figure a blur past the windows - to where her shirt had fallen the night before. She ran back around to the front, grabbing her jacket from where she’d left it on the stoop. “Don’t.” Granny reiterated in a gentler tone, squeezing his arm to soothe him but Killian’s eyes followed Regina until she disappeared from view.  
*

“Where were you?” David asked as he walked out the back of the club, seeing Regina with her feet propped up on a mixing table, nursing a large mug of coffee, steaming in her lap.

The club was otherwise empty; Neal and Emma didn’t open up until later in the afternoon, leaving the morning for David and the band, setting up and taking down equipment and on certain days, like that day, holding auditions for a new drummer. Mr Gold, the patron of the club and Neal’s morally questionable father, had struck a deal with David - either they find a new drummer, or they find a new venue.

Regina had a distant look in her eyes - eyes that were rimmed red from crying - and David frowned down at the bottle sitting on the floor by the leg of her chair. He needed her sharp for their slew of interviews and he knew if she’d already started, his chances for keeping her sober were slim. “Really? Regina, it’s barely lunchtime and that bottle’s already half-full.”

“I prefer to think of it as half empty.” She groused, taking a sip of her spiked coffee, breathing in the vapors of the warm whiskey as she slouched down further in her chair.

“What happened?” He spoke gently, pulling a stool under him so that he could sit close to her, awaiting her answer. “I came by your place this morning, but you weren’t there.”

She wouldn’t meet his eye as she lied. “I left early.”

“Regina,” His voice held a warning tone.

Regina sighed. “I was fine, David. I promise.”

He reached up to grip her chin gently, guiding her face to turn to him and she knew the look in his eyes. It was the expression that asked her, with his heart out on his sleeve, to look him in the eye and tell him that. So she did.

“I kept safe.” Oddly enough, she found herself believing the statement, for even in the moments the previous night where reality shone through and she met the sharp eyes of the dark-haired irishman, she hadn’t been afraid. He wasn’t Daniel - no one would ever be Daniel again - but he had tried, for her sake, to be as close as.

Waking in the sunlight with his eyes on her had been unexpectedly pleasant. She’d even thought for a moment, that there could be a chance she could get used to being scrutinised like that; adored for her scars. But the reality of it was too heavy and too much. At the sound of Henry’s name it had been impossible not to break down, no matter how hard she tried.

“Then what is it?” David gently brushed a hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear and Regina sighed, leaning into his hand for just a moment. “You’ve been crying.”

“Just a bad day, that’s all.”

“Reg,”

She sighed. “I,” She swallowed and he could see the tears start to well in her eyes again. She pressed her lips tightly together, fighting it, but her throat constricted and her cheeks enflamed as she sobbed out the words. “I thought about Henry this morning.”

David didn’t waste a moment pulling her into his arms; Regina curled into a ball, pulling her legs up to her side as she wracked with painful sobs. She clung to him, practically crawling into his lap as he held her; arms tight like a vice so she’d know he wasn’t about to drop her. He’d made that promise and he’d swore to himself that regardless of where their lives took them, the vow to always be there for her, was forever.

He soothed her, rubbing his hand up and down her back until the painful sobs became short whimpers muffled by his shirt. “It’s alright, Regina.” He smiled, kissing the top of her head. “It’s alright to think about him.”

“I can’t do it without falling apart.” She croaked. “It’s been twelve years, David.” She breathed heavily against his neck and he could feel the hot moisture of it, sending shivers down his back. “Will this pain ever go away?”

“I don’t know,” He spoke quietly and honestly, keeping his voice as level as he possibly could, even though he could feel his own composure starting to break. “I don’t know if it can.”

“So what do we do?”

He hugged her tighter, kissing her temple and soothing her hair with his broad hand. “We keep moving.”

“Sometimes I just think of how beautiful he’d be, how smart,” Her voice wavered. “He’d have been so smart, David, smarter than us.”

“Smarter, more handsome, more talented.” David agreed, his voice lowering to a whisper against her ear. “He’d have had the best of both of us.”

“He did.”

“Yes,” David smiled against her ear. “He did.”

 

**

David kept glancing in Regina’s direction throughout the auditions. He knew she wanted to be there about as much as he did, but she was struggling to even feign attention as an ex-biker with a beer belly, wearing a shirt with Regina’s face on it, beat the hell out of their drum kit with less finesse than a bull in a china shop.

It was in auditions like these, he was glad they had retired Daniel’s set.

“Thank you,” David nodded, scratching the man’s name off the list as he smiled reassuringly. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Can I get an autograph, before I go?” The biker was six foot tall, had brick pillars for arms and was covered, from wrists to neck to ankles, in tattoos. His long, corkscrew beard had wisps of grey and the back of his bald head had two eyes, tattooed.

David looked to Regina, as the man looked to Regina, with hope in his eyes. He didn’t want to piss the man off more than necessary. Perhaps if Regina could placate him with an autograph and a selfie, the blow of not getting the gig might not be as hard.

She continued to stare into space.

She was sitting with her legs propped up on a table, one straight and one bent. The wet-wash of her jeans reflected in the stage lights and the rest of her blended into the shadows. Lounging back in her chair, she had abandoned the coffee from earlier in the day and instead, cradled the almost empty bottle of whiskey against her stomach.

“Regina,” David urged, but she didn’t budge, lost in her own head. He turned his eyes back to the guy on stage, blinking up to see the burly man with an otherwise terrifying appearance, gushing at Regina. “I’ll tell you what, she’s not feeling great today. Come by the gig on Friday and you can have twenty minutes backstage to meet the whole band.”

The tone-deaf biker beamed at him, jumping down from the stage to shake his hand before heading toward Regina who had turned her head up with a look of complete boredom. David diverted him, blocking his path gently and ushering him from the room. 

Regina returned to staring into space.

“You’ve got to acknowledge some of them, Regina.” David sighed and she shrugged her shoulders.

“Bring me one half as good as he was and i’ll acknowledge them.”

David dropped back down to his chair with a huff, picking up his clipboard as he threw her a reproachful look. It didn’t matter though, because Regina had pressed her eyes closed, drained the last mouthful from her bottle and let her head sag over the back of the chair.

“Next up, Killian Jones.”

“Don’t tell me if it’s another groupie, I don’t wanna know.” Regina groused, keeping her eyes closed and her head back.

David’s eyes lit up immediately when the man walked out on stage, dressed unimpressively in black jeans, a stretched black t-shirt and a black leather jacket. No sign at all that the man was a Royals groupie, which eased David’s apprehension. Perhaps, finally, this was a real audition.

David watched as Killian Jones looked out towards them, seeing a smirk touch his lips as he looked to Regina. She’d kept her eyes closed; she had no knowledge of the man’s appearance but for the sound of his shoes on the creaky stage.

“When you’re ready.” David urged and he inclined his head before taking a seat behind the drum kit.

Without a word, Killian dropped them right in the bridge of the set they’d played the previous night, when he’d seen Regina for the first time. She sat up suddenly, her back as straight as an iron rod as the sound touched her ears.

Her eyes blinked open with excitement; finally, someone who could actually play. David watched her, surprised, when the look of excitement quickly dropped from her eyes and she stood up to leave.

“Regina wait!” He called after her, grabbing her arm.

“Not him.”

“But he’s good, Reg, come on. If we don’t find someone today, Gold’s going to sever our deal.”

“Not. him.” She ground out, glancing over David’s shoulder at the expectant Irishman who’d stopped playing so suddenly when she’d stood up.

“I want him.”

“I don’t.”

“He’s in.”

“He’s not.” Regina glared but David didn’t back down.

“No.”

“Regina,” He sighed.

“David, no. Not him.”

“If I may interject...” Killian started, but David and Regina spun around at the exact same time, their voices in perfect sync as they answered in unison.

“No!”

“Right.” Killian tapped his drumsticks against his leg, sheepishly averting his eyes to the floor.

“David, he’s only going to be trouble.”

“Why?” David squeezed her arm gently. “How do you know him?”

Regina’s hackles grew in defence and she flinched, looking away from his eyes. “I don’t.”

“So what’s your problem?”

Regina threw her arms up in frustration, storming from the room in her rage and shoving a stack of empty milk-crates to the ground in her anger. She didn’t have an appropriate argument that wasn’t going to lead David straight to the truth. That this man had effected her.  
“So…” Killian shrugged, still sitting behind the drum kit with a perplexed look on his face as David turned back around to face him, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. 

“You’re in.”

“Won’t she kill me in my sleep, or something, if you make that call?”

David chuckled. “I’ll handle Regina. You’re the best we’ve heard all day and Regina knows it. Five percent of the takings for each gig, be here at least a half hour early for rehearsals and I’ll speak to Neal about getting you some work in the club.”

Killian opened his mouth to respond but David cut him off.

“Emma may have already mentioned you were staying at Granny’s with nothing but an Oreo to your name.”

Killian smirked, pointing his drumstick at the man. “I’ll have you know, I have five bucks to my name and the Oreo was breakfast.”

**

 

“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?” The voice so close to her ear startled her and she jumped away, her shoulder hitting the grafittied wall of the club in the dingy loading dock. “Bit jumpy too.” He smirked and Regina rolled her eyes. Dropping her cigarette to the ground, she stomped on it without uttering a word, before she stormed back into the club.

“Come on, Regina, give me a chance.”

“David may have picked you to join the band and you may have been the best drummer we’ve heard all day, but that doesn’t mean I ever have to talk to you.”

“What happened to the Regina from this morning?” He frowned, his voice soft and just hurt enough to get her attention. She stopped walking away from him, frozen on the spot in the shadow between two narrow down-lights in an otherwise dim corridor.

“What happened to the soft, gentle Regina that smiled in the sunlight and snorted in her sleep?”

Regina’s resolve wavered for just a moment as she slowly turned around to meet his eye. “She made a mistake.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Regina turned her eyes to the floor, avoiding his.

“Because if I said the wrong thing, Regina, I apologise. I’m an idiot, and I say the wrong thing more often than not,” He released a deep sigh with the smallest smile twisting his lips upward. “But last night, you have to admit, was pretty amazing.”

“It can’t happen again.” She turned to leave but he grabbed her arm and Regina stopped there, starring at his hand.  
“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want it.”

“If that was true, you’d be able to look me in the eye when you said it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Regina pulled her arm from his hold, looking him square in the eye with an intensity that had him pulling back. “You don’t want this.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I do.” She shrugged, taking a step back and slowly wrapping her arms around herself; retreating inside her shell. He’d seen a glimpse of her that morning; he’d seen the beautiful woman that was hidden behind all of that incredible pain and he’d wanted her. For that split second, when she’d smiled and the sun had warmed their skin, he’d wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a single thing in his whole life.

Regina gasped loudly, stumbling back into the stage door as he accosted her. Her head hit the plywood, their teeth chattered together as his lips pressed hungrily to hers. He expected her to push him off, to shove him back and to slap him in the face; but in an instant she was kissing him back, biting his lip, pulling his hair and tugging on his shirt until he could hear the stitching splitting.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, his broad hands roaming the expanse of supple curves beneath weatherworn cotton and ripped denim. His fingernails found the stitching of her jeans at her thighs, scratching down the edges as she dragged herself up on her toes, breathing desperately through her nose as her full lips refused to release him.

“No,” She quivered, struggling to push him away. They were both breathless and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him as, with harsh, shuddering breaths, she held him at arms length.

“Regina, I…”

She cut him off with a soft voice, barely loud enough to make her stand. As she slipped out from between him and the door, making her way back down the hall. “No.”

**

Regina sat with her feet dangling off the fire escape of her third storey apartment. The street below was bustling and the sound of bickering taxi’s and pushy buses drowned out her nagging thoughts. Alone with her thoughts wasn’t ever her favourite place to be which was why alone with vodka and silence always seemed so much more appealing.

She couldn’t get his eyes out of her head. They were so bright, so blue and somehow, they were as damaged as her own. The thought pained her, because she knew there couldn’t possibly be a way for them to help each other at all.

He was right. That night had been amazing and as she pressed her eyes closed and remembered the sun kissed morning, she realised how special it really had been. She hadn’t even known his name; he was an irishman camped out on Granny’s porch with a working lighter and a whole in the knee of his jeans. His near-raven hair stuck up in all directions and his eyes were as blue as the ocean. As deep as, as well, if she felt like being poetic. 

She took a drag of her cigarette before pulling the cork out of a bottle of chardonnay she’d been keeping for a dinner party, with her teeth. It had been David’s idea to have all the band around to her place, to prove she was still human. But having brought the Chardonnay and handed it to her with all but a knife at his back, she knew - by the choice of wine alone - that it was Mary’s idea.

Regina took a long sip. “Bottom’s up, Mary-Margaret.” She toasted the sky and chuckled to herself when she didn’t get a response.

“You know, it’s one thing to get drunk in a group but to drown yourself in Chardonnay on your own is a bit sad.”

“Get lost, David.” She grumbled, refusing to turn around and look at him, standing in the middle of her living room with his hands in his pockets.

“I came to see how you were. I haven’t seen you in nearly a week.”

“I haven’t missed a gig.”

“You know what I mean.”

“He’s good, I’ll admit that; wonderful addition to the group.” She took another sip of the wine. “Doesn’t mean I have to speak to him.”

“And that means you stop speaking to me too?”

Regina shrugged her shoulders and David sighed. He let his eyes roam around her apartment. She didn’t have any pictures on the walls, there was a piano in the far corner and a sofa with a tattered old blanket draped over the back. There was a stack of records sitting haphazardly in a pile next to her foster father’s old record player and a small cactus she’d managed to murder through neglect.

The whole apartment smelled of cigarette smoke mixed with lavender, an odd combination that had him tilting his head at her back in confusion.

“Come on, you can’t avoid him forever.”

“I can.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“We slept together.” She blurted out and for a second, David’s eyes widened before his lips pulled in a gentle smile and his expression softened.

“I know.”

Regina spun around, nearly knocking her bottle off the edge of the fire escape. “That rat-bastard!” She hissed, scrambling to her feet and tripping back through the window; she got her foot caught on the sill and stumbled against the couch before she could right herself.

“He didn’t tell me, Regina.”

“Then how did you…?”

She was looking up at him with wide, nervous eyes and he took pity on her, reaching out to grasp her hand as he guided her to the sofa. “We were together all through high school, we were married for three years and we’ve been friends for nearly twenty.” He smirked, touching his knuckle to her cheek bone affectionately. “You think I don’t know the face you get.”

“What face?”

David’s expression grew into a full grin and she could feel the laughter bubbling to the surface. “You know the face.”

“I don’t believe I do.”

“Well,” He cleared his throat. “Let me remind you.” He repositioned himself on the sofa, pulling his leg up so that he could turn to face her, his eyes intense but the smirk on his lips betraying his mirth. “Two weeks before senior prom, you had some sort of fight with your foster mom and we drove up to the Hollywood sign. Just the two of us,” Regina’s cheeks were starting to burn and she averted her eyes, looking down at the foil wrapping around the neck of the bottle in her lap. “Wide back seat of an old Cadillac, a little bit of stolen beer, Heart playing on the radio…”

“Okay,” Regina laughed, smacking at his chest to shut him up. “Okay, I get it.”

“You had a different look when you were with me, with Daniel too.”

“I don’t love him.” 

“I know, it’s not that face either,” David looked down, fiddling with the edge of the tattered blanket. “but he likes you.”

Regina shrugged. “I don’t know, David. I’m in too many pieces,” She met his eye. “And so’s he.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Or maybe it’s the worst.” She sighed. “The last thing I need is to end up with someone just like me.” She dropped her head to the back of the sofa, starring up at the ceiling. David reached for her locket, resting it’s weight in the palm of his hand before he flipped the latch open.

Inside was the tiniest wisp of soft, chestnut hair beside the image of a regal, beautiful woman and a man with a strong jaw and dark, warm eyes. “They’d want you to be happy, Regina.”

“They’d want a lot of things, if they were alive.”

“Regina,”

“That’s just it, David. Everything i’ve ever had worth a damn has been taken from me. My parents,” She snapped the locket shut and opened her eyes. “Henry, Daniel,” She sobbed. “Even you,”

“Hey,” He shuffled closer, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m never going anywhere, you know that.”

“That’s not the point, David.”

“Well, maybe we should focus on you.” He gripped her hand a little tighter, pulling it into his lap. “I know you’re not happy.”

“What clued you in, Sherlock?”

David gave her a reproachful look and Regina glanced away with a smirk. “I don’t like seeing you like this, Reg. I don’t like walking into your dressing room when you’re half-baked and so drunk you can’t see, right before we go on stage.” He guided her eyes back to him with his finger curled gently under her chin. Tears shone in her eyes but she didn’t let them fall. “You have a wonderful talent, Regina and I don’t want to walk into that room one day and find you in a state we can’t come back from.”

“David I,”

“No,” He cut her off. “Before you tell me we’re not there yet I want to make something perfectly clear.” He bopped her nose. “I love you, Regina,” She smiled shakily. “I always have and you know, I always will. So I don’t want to lose you to this. You know we’re there; we’ve been there for quite some time.”

Regina’s eyes dropped to their hands and she breathed out, ignoring the lone tear that trickled down her cheek. 

“What do I do?”

Leaning over, David pressed his lips to her temple and she could feel the corners of his smile against her hairline. His breath on her face was warm as he spoke, so quietly and gently. “You ask for help.”

“David,”

“All you have to do is ask, Regina.”

She looked up at him with eyes that had turned red and puffy from a mix of tears and chardonnay that was too expensive to be drinking alone on a rusted old fire-escape and she let out a sudden, shuddering sob.

“Help me.”

To Be Continued.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm just filling in the chapters here, that I have already been posted on ff.net. There's nothing posted today that hasn't already been posted there. (26/05/2016)

The room was small, cramped and a bit stuffy. The fluorescent lights hurt her eyes as they flickered; one second too bright and the next, too dim. The room was filled with a range of different people mulling about and a circle of folding chairs in the centre. She'd already caught the wandering eye of a possible fan watching her as she crossed the room; making a bee-line to the man holding the clipboard. She made a point to focus on him, if only to ignore the stares of those that knew who she was and those that were trying so hard to place her.

Semi-famous in LA was as famous as she wanted to be, in that room.

"You're new to us," The soft english accent caught her by surprise and the gentle blue eyes that found her in the light of a bright moment, were so like the man she was trying to avoid that a cold shiver ran over her skin.

What was it with her and men from the British Isles?

"Apparently so." She groused, looking everywhere but at his face. That didn't mean she hadn't noticed him. The thick wisp of golden brown hair, the strong, angled jaw or the way lean muscles moved beneath his white, button-down shirt that was rolled at the sleeves and covered with a brown, button-down vest; she caught sight of a tattoo on the inside of his wrist; a golden lion, dancing with every movement of his hand.

"Welcome," He held his hand out and she smiled, forcibly.

"Regina." She clarified.

"Ah, you're Regina, welcome" He added as she reluctantly shook his hand, panicking on the inside that her hands were as sweaty as she thought they were. "I'm Robin," He smiled, and she felt her insides shudder. "Call me Rob."

"Hello."

He leaned in, conspiratorially whispering in her ear. "Don't worry, no one knows you're here."

Regina blinked and Rob decided to clarify. "I spoke with David, and he said you're a bit famous around these parts? Is that true?"

"Surprisingly so, on occasion."

"I've heard of the Royals, so don't be too surprised." He smirked and Regina attempted and failed to hide her blush. "But they've promised to keep your participation in the group, confidential."

"Isn't it supposed to be anonymous anyway?" She scrunched her nose in confusion and he smirked.

"There's many different kinds of anonymity." He patted her arm gently. "And yours will be particularly invisible."

"Thanks." She furrowed her brow. "But you said they, you're not leading the group?" Rob pulled a gold coin from his pocket and flipped it in the air with a grin.

"Just another successful case, four years sober." He raised his chin with pride. "I'm just taking roll." He waved the clipboard in front of her face with a grin.

"Right." She nodded slowly. "So if this isn't your group, why did you speak to David?"

He grinned broadly. "I'm your sponsor."

For a moment, she thought she was having a heart attack. If her palms hadn't been sweaty before, they were now and she desperately wanted to reach for a bottle. She glanced around the room. There was a small table covered in a cheap plastic tablecloth that held plates of biscuits and cakes and on the end there were tall, steel coffee and tea decanters.

"Would you like one?"

The voice startled her and Regina looked up at him again.

"A cup of tea." He clarified and she had to hold in a chuckle at the absurdity of the moment. Her brain was overloading with stereotypes and it was making her head ache.

"No, thank you."

"You prefer coffee." He nodded and Regina smirked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I prefer whiskey," She adopted an innocent tone, even as she relayed what was really going through her head; because she'd gladly sacrifice Mary-Margaret for three fingers of whiskey in that moment. "Isn't that why we're here?"

"Touché," He smirked as he stepped away from her, heading toward the stack of paper cups at the end of the table.

She was starting to wish she'd downed the last of the whiskey in her apartment before David had whisked her away to this creepy community hall basement. It was the least conspicuous, he'd said. 'No one is going to expect you to be there.' was his argument and she was glad for this effort, but questioning the choice.

As she caught Rob's eye from the other side of the room - he raised his paper cup to her with a wink - she was trying to work out which was worse. Public embarrassment at being burned in the local paper - 'Local Rock Queen attends Downtown Rehab' or possibly tripping over her own sanity with the blue-eyed Englishman that was looking at her out of the corner of his eye every few minutes.

She swallowed, her throat as dry as a desert; she wanted to run.

"Regina, would you like to tell us a little bit about yourself?" The leader of the group, a portly psychologist with thick-rimmed glasses named Paul, directed all attention to Regina. For the most part she'd been sitting in silence, slouched in her chair with her feet crossed out in front of her; legs extended and arms crossed as she chewed on her thumbnail.

She looked up suddenly, blinking rapidly before she swallowed and removed her thumb from her mouth with a scowl.

"No."

"A very effective part of this program is learning to open up about your issues."

"I drink too much, I snort coke when I'm out of Whiskey and I can't stand my ex-step-daughter." Regina shrugged. "All clear, next victim." She pointed to the jittering street junkie to her right - named Eddie - who'd been muttering about the return of Christ, under his breath, for the last half hour.

Rob, sitting on her left, let out a faint sigh and Regina's eyes shot to him, but he was already looking away. Something inside of her flinched; somehow, the sound of this man's disapproval made her skin itch and her insides churn. Awkwardly, she pulled herself back up to a sitting position.

She crossed one leg over the other and folded her arms over her chest again, this time refraining from chewing her thumb as she listened to Eddie's paranoid ramblings of the saviour's return with Rob's eyes burning into the side of her face.

"You know, the whole point of these meetings is to talk through your issues." Rob's voice caught Regina off-guard as she stood on the steps of the community hall, warmed by the glow of her cigarette and glad the farce of pretending she could actually struggle through AA, was over for the night.

Regina smirked, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "That's not how I do things."

"You know," He stepped down a few steps, turning back around to look up at her with a concerned expression that made her bones feel like they'd dissolve into magma. "Maybe the whole problem is the way you've been doing things."

"Poetic." She groused.

"The truth," He smirked. "Your way isn't working, so try mine." Without another word or look, the chisel-jawed englishman turned and strode away. Regina watched him cross the car park, feeling that her heart had leapt up into her chest. It started beating frantically, a manifestation of her darkest demons, clawing their way to the surface.

She wanted to let them out, she wanted to share them and get them off her chest because a part of her knew that Rob was right. But somehow, she froze up. All sanity escaped her and she'd acted like a spoiled brat with the man who smelled like fresh pine and pancakes, sitting beside her with a reassuring smile.

She couldn't tell him; not when her heart skipped a beat when he looked at her.

**

"What are you doing here?" Killian's eyes bulged as Regina pressed her palms to his chest, shoving him backwards into his room.

"I slipped passed Granny, she doesn't know I'm here."

"I thought you weren't talking to me," Killian frowned, watching Regina's fingers as she deftly unbuttoned his shirt.

"So shut up and kiss me," She growled, scraping her nails down his chest.

"Bad night?" He questioned and Regina looked up at him with a scowl.

"Right," He nodded, reaching for her waist. "Shutting up and kissing." He obliged, not even flinching when she bit down hard on his lip, sure to leave a mark. Something was bothering her. She was breathless and her eyes were empty, almost frantic. Killian could feel the way she fumbled for his belt buckle whilst pushing him back towards the bed, that she was desperately fighting something.

Regina's inner demons; something he wasn't entirely sure he was qualified to fight. But as she looked up at him breathlessly, her lips swollen from the assault on his own and his cock half hard in her hand, he figured helping her forget her demons, instead of facing them head on, was something he could do.

It was still dark as Regina and Killian lay there, side by side, looking up at the ceiling. She could feel the sweat that glistened across her chest, touching her fingertips to her lips, she could still taste the blood she'd shed in his mouth. He didn't dare speak or even touch her, regardless of the intimate embrace they'd shared only moments ago. He could still feel his heart racing, even as the breeze from the window had started to cool his sweat-dampened skin.

"I was married to her father."

Killian turned his head to the side, his eyes resting on Regina's profile, framed by the blue glow of the moon. "Who's father?" He kept his voice low, barely above a whisper, lest he scare her into silence.

"Mary Margaret's."

"David's girlfriend," He nodded. "So the animosity between you two," He blinked. "it's the age gap or lack-there-of?"

"She refuses to see how much of a bastard her perfect father really is."

Killian studied her closely. She refused to turn to him or meet his eye, seemingly content in the darkness, to breathe out her demons and share them in the dark.

"I still have the scars and she never believed me."

"Why were you with him?" Killian reached up, resting his hand on the mattress near he ear, twirling a lock of her dark hair between his fingers.

"He spoiled me." She laughed bitterly. "I don't know, maybe with everything I'd been through I thought that's what love was meant to be."

Twisting her hands in the rough sheets, close to her chest, Regina's voice shook faintly in the darkness. "But I was just a plaything, just a toy to bring out on display when he had need of me." She breathed out.

"How did you get away?"

Her smile was sweet, glowing gently as the rapid rise and fall of her chest slowed. "David," She swallowed and Killian had found himself fixated on the way her expressions changed, so subtly. "He saved me. He always does."

"Do I need to be concerned about that?" Killian smirked and Regina finally turned to look him in the eye.

"What do you mean?"

"For competition," He smirked and Regina's eyes opened wide, staring at him as though she'd only just realised where she was and that it was the last place on earth, she wanted to be.

"I have to go." She rolled out of bed, pulling her jeans on and throwing her shirt over her head.

"Regina,"

"No, this was a mistake."

She pulled her boots back on, shaking his arm away as he reached for her elbow. "Regina, please."

"No," She frowned. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come here."

She disappeared out the door without another word, slamming it behind her and leaving him alone in the dark to fall back against the pillows with a heavy sigh.

Killian ambled down the stairs, headed toward the kitchen to see if Granny had left any lasagne in the fridge when, through the open front door, he saw something he did not expect. With her back to him, curled in on herself, was Regina.

Detouring, he followed the hall out to the porch, cringing at the creaking sound the front screen door made. "Sorry," He winced as she looked up at him, standing between her and the door as it slowly creaked closed.

"I told you this was a mistake."

"But you're still here."

"I couldn't think of where else to go."

"You couldn't go home?"

"It's lonely there. And I haven't cleaned up." She didn't elaborate on exactly what she meant; that 'cleaned up' really meant that she hadn't yet had the time to pour all of her half-empty whiskey bottles down the drain before David showed up on her doorstep to do it for her. She tried to extinguish the thought, but all that replaced it was the broad, pristine grin of the sandy-haired Englishman who made her heart flutter when he spoke.

"And it's less lonely out here, on Granny's stoop?"

"Oddly enough," She smirked.

"Do you wanna talk?" Killian ventured, pulling his hip flask from his pocket and fiddling with the lid. He noticed Regina's eyes turn as he moved, fixing on his hands as he held the flask out before him, casually resting his arms on his knees as he sat down beside her.

"Not really," She cleared her throat before she swallowed and quickly turned her eyes back to the road. Killian furrowed his brow.

"Okay," He nodded, thinking. "Do you want me to talk then?"

"If you want."

He chuckled lightly. "Okay, well," He coughed into his hand to clear his throat. "Well I left Ireland for some fairly selfish reasons."

"Oh?" She wouldn't meet his eye, but he smirked.

"Yeah, I was engaged, almost married her too," He laughed, looking up at the stars. "I got all the way to the alter and she got halfway there too, before she turned tail and ran."

"I'm sorry," Regina's head turned and he could feel her eyes on his face as he looked down at his hands.

"It's alright," He nodded. "It was probably for the best." Twisting his arm around on his knee, he showed her the tattoo on his forearm - the brunette with piercing blue eyes and a cautious smile. "Milah," He spoke quietly. "Turns out she never really loved me as much as I loved her."

Regina flinched at his words, pulling her shoulders up higher as if to hide herself as he took a swig from his flask. Killian just smiled genuinely, kindly; holding the hip flask out to her with the cap in her direction. For a moment she hesitated, David's and Rob's faces flashing before her eyes. But then she looked up to see how Killian's blue eyes glistened and something inside of her cracked.

Tentatively, she took the flask from him, lifting it to her nose to breathe in the aroma. Rum; she should have known.

She took a long swig, feeling the burn down the back of her throat like a searing punishment for her weakness. She'd attended one meeting and she'd already fallen royally off the wagon.

"I can't replace her."

"Nor can I be him, love." Killian smirked, taking the flask and throwing his head back. Regina watched the lines of his throat as he swallowed, using the physicality of his presence to hide from David's disappointed expression and the overbearing reality of her new sponsor's words.

She'd shared truths with Killian and he'd shared truths with her; as she gestured for him to pass the flask back once again, she felt that perhaps if she shared some of the grazes of her past with him, she could avoid sharing the deepest scars and gashes with the strangers that claimed they could save her.

As she swallowed once again the world started to blur. David's disappointment ebbed away and she could barely remember the face of the man she'd met earlier in the evening.

Regina woke up with a throbbing headache, a uncomfortable strain in her neck and the imprint of a doily in her right cheek. The smell of eggs and the sound of crackling bacon reached her senses before she realised where she was and while she frowned against the sharp morning light, the sound of Granny's blissful humming calmed her nerves.

"Ah, you're awake, wonderful." Granny's far too chipper voice startled her as she came bustling into the room. "I'm so glad you're up, I'm making you breakfast."

"I don't think I could eat anything." Regina groaned, rubbing her brow in discomfort as she sat up on the sofa.

"A little hair of the dog?" Killian's voice surprised her and she turned sharply, wincing at how the sudden movement turned her stomach before she saw him stretched out on a lounge-chair, dangling his hip flask out to offer.

Regina frowned, shaking her head as she stood. "I should go."

"Now Regina, dear, I don't think that's wise." Granny gripped her arms gently and Regina smiled down at her kindly.

"I appreciate it, Granny, but I'll be fine."

"Regina," Killian's voice was soft and gentle and she could hear the question in his tone. He wanted to talk, but that was the last thing Regina wanted to do. They'd been honest with each other the night before, perhaps too honest and Regina needed to pull herself back.

She was trying to be better. She was trying to save herself. But wallowing in self-pity and grappling for Killian's understanding was having the opposite effect.

"I should go," She responded, unable to meet his eyes. There was silence for a moment; Granny disappeared back into the kitchen and Regina was left facing the door with a dejected Killian sitting three feet behind her.

"What is this?" She could hear the disappointment in his voice.

"I don't know." She breathed before making her way out the door without another word.

They both knew what they were doing, but were too afraid to admit it.

***

"What are you doing here?" Regina smirked, seeing the broad-shouldered man leaning against the edge of the bar, his fingers wrapped around a club soda with an amused smile on his face.

"David invited me."

"Oh he did, did he?" She rolled her eyes, waving Emma down to send a drink her way before she remembered who she was talking to. The blonde didn't hesitate, pouring Regina two fingers of whiskey and sliding the glass down the bar. Rob caught it midway, eyeing Regina with a look she couldn't quite place before he let the glass go.

What surprised her was that he didn't call out for Emma to take it back, he didn't argue that she should pour it out or look at her with disappointment. He simply moved his hand away and turned his eyes down to study a chip in the wood of the bar.

"You're not going to say anything?" Regina could hear the shake in her own voice, fearing his opinion before he'd even voiced it.

"No."

"Why?"

"I'm not here to belittle you, Regina." He met her eyes. "I'm not here to tell you not to drink," He shrugged. "If you want to drink, you drink. If you believe it'll help." Tapping his nails on the bar, he smiled kindly. "My job is to show you that there's other choices you can make, if you want to. I'm here to share with you how being sober has helped me and hope that perhaps it'll help you too. And I'm here to talk, whenever you feel you're ready to open up."

Regina sat there staring at him for a moment, her dark brown eyes studying the blue of his for longer than was really necessary. She could feel her skin heating up; her cheeks flushed under her make-up and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. With anyone else she'd have likely downed the drink in one swallow, out of spite. Somehow Robin was different.

"I didn't think," She breathed, looking down at the glass cradled in her hand as she slowly pushed it across the bar and away from her, staring at it like a loss.

"That's okay."

Regina swallowed. "So, did he invite you for the warm up."

Rob cleared his throat. "Yeah, thought it might be good for me to see what kind of band you guys are." He smirked, meeting her eye. "I haven't heard any of your music, I hope you won't hold it against me."

"No," She found herself smiling, surprising herself with how genuine it was. "But if you like it, you should stay for the show."

"No, I can't, I have somewhere I need to be."

"Sure," Regina awkwardly moved away from the bar. "That's fine,"

"Regina!" He called out after her but she waved him off.

"It's fine, don't worry about it."

Killian watched Regina as they were warming up. Her eyes had barely left the man across the bar the entire time, unless her name was called or her voice was needed. He didn't know who the guy was, but he seemed to have her undivided attention. She watched as he spoke to Emma and Neal, even helped the slight, blonde barmaid lift a crate of bottles onto the bar, flexing the muscles beneath his button-down shirt.

He frowned at the back of her head, watching as she strode the length of the stage. The sound of her heels were muffled by the sound of David tuning his guitar but he could sense the pensive pattern that she made as she paced.

He was curious as to who the man was and why, every so often, he'd meet her gaze before his attention was diverted.

Killian sucked in his lip and looked away, unable to watch Regina's attention so desperately locked on someone else. He thought he'd had competition in David, but he could see now that he was direly mistaken. David simply wanted what was best for Regina, as a brother would. But this man, this man that was new and clean looking and entirely out of place in the dungeon of the Carlyle, had Regina's curiosity. He didn't want to admit that he'd noticed the flush in her cheeks when the man had smiled in their direction, or that the look on her face had made his heart ache as she'd turned her back, facing the rest of the band and himself, to smile coyly like a school girl with a crush.

He didn't know what they had, he couldn't name it. But Regina had been with him the night before, she'd sat with him and she'd shared secrets with him. So he'd wait in hope that whoever this man was, he wasn't a threat.

"Who was he?" Killian's voice caught Regina off-guard as she made her way down the dimly-lit back corridor, towards the bathrooms.

"Who?" She threw over her shoulder.

"That guy that's hanging around?" He gently grabbed her arm, stopping her and turning her to face him. "The guy with the muscles and the expensive shirt and the cheesy smile."

"No one," She wavered, her tone shaky.

"Don't give me that, Regina. Do you think I'm stupid?"

"I think you're jealous."

"So?"

"So, you have no right to be, Killian."

"Who is he, Regina?"

"No one that concerns you."

"Of course it concerns me, we're..."

"No," She cut him off. "Killian, we're not." She reached up to grip his arm, squeezing gently. "We've been together a few times and when we are, it's fun and it's sexy and," She sucked in her bottom lip, biting down as she felt his arm flex beneath her fingers. "Sometimes I find it hard to walk away from you, but we're not good for each other, Killian."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I need to think about what I'm doing for a change."

"That sounds like David talking." He scowled and Regina's eyes softened.

"Maybe it is," She smirked. "But perhaps that's because he's right."

"I care about you."

Regina reached up, touching Killian's face with the palm of her hand, gently, running her thumb over his cheek.

"I know."

"Please, don't..." Killian grabbed her waist, pulling her towards him. Regina pressed her palms to his chest, attempting to push him back but his hold was firm and insistent but still gentle. "I can be what you want." He pressed his lips to hers hungrily, pulling her closer and dragging his nails up her back. Regina's spine arched at the touch, unable to control how her chest tightened and her heart-rate increased.

"Please, Killian, don't."

Her voice pleaded but her body refused to ignore him. Her nails found their way to his hair and before she knew it, she was growling in the back of her throat as he lifted her off the ground and pressed her back against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist and an arm around his shoulders to support her weight as he dipped his hand into her jeans.

Regina gasped, biting down hard on his lip as her whole body shook. "Killian we can't."

"I won't give up on you."

He buried his face in her neck as he pulled the zipper on his jeans and her's, rocking her against the wall and feeling his whole body stiffen as she gasped his name.

***

David snatched the bottle of whiskey out of Regina's hand as he made his way into her dressing room. The crowd in the club was dying out and through the faint crack in the heavy velvet curtain, she could see that the sun was just coming up. They'd played a full set to a packed out club. Regina had stumbled out onto the stage, readjusting her clothes and feeling her cheeks burn. When she'd noticed that Rob was no longer in the crowd, Regina had found it difficult to meet Killian's eye. For not the first time, her weakness when it came to Killian had made her feel like she'd lost a battle and she was back at the beginning again.

"No," He spoke firmly and Regina scowled, shuffling further down in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest like a petulant child.

"You're no fun."

"You've been in AA for three weeks." He argued back and her frown deepened; even though she'd wanted to drink, hiding from Killian in her dressing room and hoping he wouldn't come find her. She didn't know if she could face herself in the mirror, if she'd failed twice once again, for the second night in a row.

"I didn't drink it. I just wanted to hold it."

David smirked. "No." He patted her leg fondly, knocking her feet off the coffee table before reaching out for her hands. "Come on," He pulled her to her feet, despite her protests. "I'll drive you home."

"I don't wanna go." She pouted and David's mirth shone in his eyes.

"You need your rest, you've got a meeting tonight and I promised Rob you wouldn't be late to this one."

"Where did you pluck him from, anyway?" She questioned, awkwardly pulling her arms into her jacket sleeves.

"Friend of an old friend." He smirked and Regina scowled. "Come on, we've got the label scout tomorrow as well, remember."

Regina rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me, if Gold put half as much effort into promoting us as he did trying to get rid of us, that wouldn't be necessary."

David shrugged, pushing the curtain aside and guiding her out into the silent club. "He believes this approach to be one in the same."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, if he can get us signed to a label and recording, then he can claim exclusive rights to our live gigs, and for loyalties sake, we'd play here, then he's raking it in."

"That conniving little imp." Regina growled and David chuckled.

"It has a sense of poetry to it, like everything he does."

"True."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Regina’s heart was feeling lighter; five weeks and she was managing to stay sober. She hated the meetings, listening to the rest of the anonymous crowd, ranting their woes to a judgement free audience. She often found herself tuning out, until she’d meet those crystal blue eyes across the room, he’d smile and wink his eye and she could feel her cheeks redden as she sat up in her seat and cleared her throat.

He didn’t push her to speak in the meetings, letting her continue on using listening as her method of recovery. He could see there was a lot in her life she wasn’t yet ready to talk about and some things she probably should but never would.

Every now and then, when they stood on the stoop of the community hall, with a dusk chill seeping into their bones and a cigarette between Regina’s fingers, she wanted to talk. She’d turn her head and part her lips and he’d smile in wait, urging her to speak with those compassionate eyes of his; but something always stopped her.

Sometimes it was an image of Killian, dangling a bottle of rum before her minds-eye. Sometimes it was the knowledge that David had suffered, near as much as she had and yet she was the barely kept-together wreck.

Sometimes she simply feared if the way he looked at her would change; then she’d close her mouth, look to the horizon and pretend she hadn’t inched just a little bit closer to telling him everything.

“I’ll see you next week?” Rob smiled over his shoulder in askance and Regina nodded.

“Yeah, sure.” She waved with the hand that held her cigarette, keeping her other hand warm tucked into her armpit. “See you then.”

“And don’t forget,” He grinned widely, walking backwards as he spoke. Regina tried to force her smile down as she watched him trip up over a dip in the sidewalk, stumbling with a laugh as he caught himself and kept walking. “Meet me here Thursday, I’ve got something I want to show you.”

Regina shrugged. “I’ll be here.”

***

Regina sat with her legs dangling off the stage and a microphone hanging in her hand, down by her side. David was tuning his guitar behind her as Killian tapped his drumsticks on the edge of his stool, impatiently amusing himself and staring at the back of Regina’s head.

She could feel his eyes on her, searing the back of her head like hot pokers. She hadn’t spoken to him beyond a group setting for weeks and in doing so, managed to keep herself entirely clean and sober. She was even working up to being proud of herself and believed she almost could be, if she could shake the great sense of guilt that continued to plague her.

They were all silent and Regina’s senses were filled with the random noises around them - Killian’s tapping, David’s tuning, Neal’s bumping and scraping of glasses and trays around the bar and the heavy thud of Emma’s Docs on the battered wood floors.

Regina’s head shot up when she heard voices; startled by the oddity of it when they’d all been silent for what felt like hours, each of them in their own little worlds. It was Mary-Margaret’s voice that reached her first, singing David’s praises and harping about her own pride in him.

It was then, when Mary-Margaret and her silent charge moved into the light from the stage that Regina’s skin crawled. Ice spread through her whole body in a flood and she arched back, hopping back up onto the stage like the movement was a reflex. One could say it was, seeing as her main instinct was to run as far and as fast from that man as possible.

“Daddy, you know David, of course,” Mary-Margaret gushed. “And this is Killian,” She waved to the drummer who’s concerned eyes were set on Regina’s back as she turned away, pacing the stage.

“Pleasure,” Leo inclined his head and Killian nodded, expressionless.

“And of course, I don’t need to introduce you to Regina,” Mary-Margaret beamed and Regina spun around with anger practically seeping from her pores.

“How dare you,” She hissed. “How dare you,” She stormed forward, leaning down from her perch on the stage to growl in Mary’s face. “What right do you have to bring him here.”

“Now, Reggie Darling,” Leo started, reaching out to grasp her elbow but Regina stood up straight, back stiff and eyes hard, wrenching her arm violently away.

“Get the hell out of here!”

“I was invited by my daughter, Regina, I will stay to see the show.”

Regina hopped down off the stage, moving quickly away from the man, feeling her heart shaking in her chest with barely contained rage. She wanted to yell and scream at Mary-Margaret, to condemn her thoughtlessness, to slap her across the face for her cruelty. But instead she backed away, ignoring David’s and Killian’s concerned faces and Emma’s shout of her name.

“There’s not going to be a fucking show.” She muttered, smacking the curtain to the back room aside as she disappeared behind it, shaking right down to her bones just at seeing his face.

She hadn’t ever been a woman easily frightened. David had been her guardian angel all through high school and even as they’d stood together in her foster parent’s bathroom, staring down at a little white stick, she hadn’t been nearly as frightened as Leo made her. 

When he was in the room she quaked, when Mary said his name she could feel her blood run cold and her skin break out in a sweat. Her long-healed scars seemed to burn like fresh wounds when he was near and the corners of her eyes pricked with tears.

She had never been completely, properly scared of anyone, until Leo had left his first handprint on her arm.

She pressed her palms to the wall in the back stage corridor, feeling the cool concrete and running her fingers over the flaking burgundy paint as she sighed, resting her forehead against the wall and taking long, deep breaths. 

She thought she had a handle on how he made her feel, she thought sobering up would help. But Leo was a force and as much as she wanted to fight it, she was a woman with weaknesses like any other.

“Come now, Regina, I haven’t heard you sing in so long.” 

Regina jumped clean out of her skin at the sound of his voice. She pulled away from the wall and staggered back into it, pulling away as he moved towards her, inching further down the hall when he blocked her path.

“Sing for me, darling.”

“Get away from me, Leo.” He reached for her hand but she slapped him away. “Don’t touch me!” She hissed, shuffling away as he menacingly moved forward.

“Come on, Reg, for old time’s sake.”

“Don’t call me that,” She whimpered, staggering down the hall, unable to push past him back into the club; her only way was backwards, toward her empty dressing room. 

“Don’t call you what, Reggie?” He smirked, blocking her way with a hand against the wall just to the right of her head. Regina turned her eyes away, looking down at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes. He reached his spare hand up, pressing his palm to her hip with a lecherous smile.

Regina pushed his hand away with both of her own, fighting his attempts to tug at her shirt, pulling her face away as he leant in to nip at her neck. “Stop it,” She whimpered. “Get off me!” She shoved at his hands, pushing herself off the wall and thumping at his chest with closed fists.

“Regina!” Killian’s voice sounded in the hall as she managed to scramble away from Leo, pulling at the curtain to drag her body out of his determined hold. “Get off her!” He boomed, shoving Leo in the chest and blocking his path so that Regina could dash back into the club.

When she burst through the curtain the first thing she saw was David’s apologetic eyes over Mary-Margaret’s shoulder. His expression one of guilt and understanding. Mary-Margaret was pawing at him, holding him back from her, gushing at him with praises for her father and her naive proclamations of his innocence.

His face fell even further when he saw the hurt in Regina’s eyes, the pain at knowing he wasn’t able to come after her. For the first time, Regina was realising David couldn’t always be there for her. Be it Leo or rabid fans or a bottle full of amber; David wasn’t always going to be there to save her and Killian only knew how to fight and claw the way that she did.

She could feel her heart rate increasing, the beat of it thrumming in her ears until all she could hear was a dull roar. Her breath hitched, her chest heaved and with Killian and Leo’s voices behind her and David’s eyes before her, Regina had no idea what to do beyond running.

She dashed out the door, forgetting her coat and ignoring the shouts behind her for her to come back. She stumbled out into the street, feeling the icy wind the moment it hit her skin but she set her jaw, folded her arms over her chest and walked against the wind.

***

Robin smiled politely as he spooned out the final serve of sausages and mashed potato to a man in a dark coat with a dirty yellow scarf. He had gaps in his teeth and a smell about him that most arched away from, but the small, scruffy dog that followed him everywhere he went seemed to care so little for the smell of him.

He watched, with his hip rested against the trestle table and his arms crossed over his chest as the group before him sat about the cart with their small bowls of warm sausage and gravy; heating their bones with hearty food and sharing stories that would marvel anyone who cared to stop for just a second and listen to them.

He checked his watch, frowning, shaking his head in disappointment as he turned to start clearing up. He’d hoped she would come. He had been wanting to show her, even since she’d really started to make progress, that she could find joy in life if she tried. He wanted to show her that helping people could help her heal, that listening to them could help her understand her issues better.

But he wasn’t entirely overwhelmed that she hadn’t come. A little part of him was completely unsurprised and that part of him had tried to kick him so many times even as he’d tried to squash the thought.

His regular group had ditched their bowls and shuffled away back to their shadows and street corners as he packed up his cart; he was folding up the last table when his phone started to buzz.

He pulled it from his pocket, frowning at the caller before he answered with surprise. “Regina?”

She didn’t speak. There was a sniffle on the end of the line and heavy breathing but for a long time, she didn’t say a word.

“One sigh to say you’re safe or two for me to call for help.”

Regina sighed and Robin pressed his eyes closed in relief, smiling gently as he waited for her to be ready. Still she didn’t speak, but he could fear from her laboured breathing that she had been or still was crying and for a moment, with thought of all the resistance she’d put up, he wondered why she’d called him.

“I’m drinking.” Regina sobbed and he blinked in surprise before he schooled his voice to not show her disappointment.

“What happened?”

“Can you come?” She whimpered and he let out a long breath, looking at his watch. He was meant to get home, it was getting dangerously close to midnight and he was on a tight schedule, but Regina sounded distraught and he’d worked so hard to get her to open up that he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have her air her fears.

“Where are you?”

She muttered the name of a park he knew well, she was on the park bench right by a huge oak that stood by the side of a popular playground. And he nodded down the line.

“I have to make a stop, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay,” He voice shook down the line and Robin rushed, slamming the door of the trailer shut, locking it up and dashing for his truck.

***

When he pulled into the parking lot he could see her in the headlights, curled in on herself with her legs pulled up on the park bench. His heart wrenched at the sight of her, curled over with clear mascara stains on her cheeks and blue, chattering lips. 

Regina watched him from across the playground as he scrambled out of his car, reaching into the back for a moment before closing all the doors and moving towards her. She could see that he had something in his arms; something small that was wrapped around him and held securely at his hip.

 

It wasn't until he was standing in front of her that she realised what he was carrying. Regina's tears started anew, her eyes began to water, reddening and swelling until she sobbed out her words. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-I didn't-"

Rob sat down quickly, resting the small boy against his chest and using his free arm to wrap around Regina. "No," He pulled her into his side. "Shh, it's alright." He could feel her shaking against him, her body was frozen down to the bone and he could hear her lips chattering. "How long have you been out here?"

Regina shrugged. "Maybe two hours."

"Two hours, Regina," Robin gasped. "Come on, we have to get you out of here."

He made to pull her up but Regina held firm, shaking her head. "No, I shouldn't have called you," She cried. "I didn't even know you had a kid and you're out here," She waved her arm, gesturing at the sleeping child with his cherubic face resting on his father's shoulder. "And he's asleep but I called and I made you come," She whimpered. "I shouldn't have done that, you should leave me here."

"Regina,"

"No," She sobbed, awkwardly trying to unscrew the bottle of whiskey in her lap. "Just leave me."

"Regina," Robin spoke gently, crouching down in front of her, expertly shifting the small child to his other arm so that he could still her fingers on the bottle cap; they were ice. "I'm not leaving you, not ever." Regina's eyes shot up to his. They were rimmed red and stained with smeared eyeliner, but they locked on the clear, fresh blue of his and she licked her lips feeling, for a change, a spark of hope. "I promised to be here for you and Regina," He smiled, reassuringly gripping her fingers tighter. "I'm here."

"You shouldn't be." She breathed and Robin smiled, reaching up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. Something passed between them, a spark of something she knew could be dangerous. His fingers felt like a flame, heating her skin to the point where, she almost couldn't feel the cold any longer. His eyes hadn't left hers, keeping her grounded, keeping her steady and making her forget that her small fingers gripped the cap of the bottle.

"I can't think of anywhere else I'd be of better use." His thumb brushed along her cheekbone and Regina's eyelashes fluttered. She felt like she was breaking in half but with Robin's hand rested against her cheek, she felt tethered and somehow, she felt safe. It wasn't the bottle grounding her but the calloused pad of his thumb that touched her cheek and touched her heart.

Thunder cracked overhead and the small boy in Robin's arms made a gentle little sound of discontent. Regina's breath hitched; her attention drawn to the little eyes that blinked in the dim light of the street lamp overhead. "Daddy," The boy groaned, curling in closer to Robin's shoulder as Robin shushed him back into a fitful slumber.

"Come on," Robin gripped Regina's hand and stood. "Come with us out of the rain before it soaks you through."

Regina hesitated, feeling her fingers twitch in the palm of his hand. She looked down at the bottle in her lap, feeling the rim of the cap digging into her skin as she ran her fingers around it. She had to stop this, she had to let him help her. David wasn't always going to be there, Killian was more danger than he was help and she was petrified that if she saw Leo again, she'd break down and cry like a little girl. She'd tried to fix herself on her own, but her relationship with Killian was testament to how sourly that had worked.

With a shaky, uneven step, she got up from the bench and made to follow him. Robin surprised her when suddenly he pulled his coat out to the side and wrapped her in it, pulling her under his arm and stilling her shivering frame almost instantly. Her body quaked for an entirely different reason then, when she felt the taut muscles of his chest against her and the warmth of his body through his shirt.

"What do I do?" Regina whispered.

Robin hugged her tighter. "We can start by throwing that bottle in the trash just there."

Regina looked down at it, feeling her fingers resisting. Everything inside of her told her that it was for the best. The drink didn't help, it never had. It barely even numbed the constant ache around her heart. But something had shifted, something was changing. Something was starting to feel like the few brief moments she'd spent loving Daniel. She felt stronger, she felt braver and she felt courageous for long enough to toss the bottle into the trashcan and not even look over her shoulder and wonder if she'd made the right decision.

"Do you want to go home?" She could feel the timbre of his voice against her side.

"No," She breathed out, unsure that if she was left alone again, she'd shatter into pieces.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

The feeling between them had been chilly the entire ride home from the club and Mary-Margaret could feel the guilt bearing down on her as they clambered up the cold, iron-rail stairs in their walk-up. She knew the air was thick with tension and yet startled as the door slammed behind David. The hour was late and the apartment was cold, chilled from the living-room window left ajar. David’s posture was rigid as she turned back to him, watching him from where she stood dumbly between the plush ivory sofas.

She didn’t want to admit to herself what had happened; she’d tried too long and hard to bury the thought.

“What is it now?” She let out a breath, tired and frustrated as David stalked across the room, refusing to meet her eye. “What have I done to make you so angry?” She begged as he reached for the window and latched it closed, shutting out the impending storm. “David, I don’t understand.” She did, but that part of her that loved her father wanted so desperately to believe it all in Regina’s imagination.

He whirled around to meet her, his eyes aflame and his heart churning, screaming for answers. Mary-Margaret was anything but cruel, if anything the people that knew her would describe her as just, sweet and pure as the first snow. So naturally it baffled him that she constantly refused to see in Regina what he saw; refused to see in her own father, what the rest of them could.

Perhaps the answer was in the question; who wanted to see their own father in such a detestable light?

She was an intelligent woman, beautiful and brave - it was part of why he had fallen in love with her. But she refused - wore blinders to fight off the truth of it. She didn’t want to admit what he had done.

David knew it was time. It was going to hurt and it was going to tear down the delicate facade that kept her holding on to the one parent she had left. But if Regina was to heal, if they were all to heal, Mary-Margaret needed to accept the truth she tried so hard to keep buried.

“We need to talk about what happened.”

She rolled her eyes. “Nothing happened, David,” She shrugged, dropping to sit on the sofa. “Regina overreacted, like she always does.”

“No!” He boomed, louder than intended but with the exact amount of force he needed to startle her attention. He crouched before her, grasping her hands between his and letting her see the pain that whirled in his eyes. 

Tears sprung to her own and he knew; he knew there was no way that she was completely blind to it. He could see the guilt there as sure as he felt it in his own heart.

“You know she didn’t, Mary.” He sighed. “You know what happened.”

“They parted, they divorced,” Her voice hitched. “I remember, David, I was there. But he still cares about her.”

A tear fell from David’s eye as he caressed her forearm, steadying himself if not her. “No,” He breathed, his voice lower than a whisper. “He never cared about her, that is the problem.” He looked back into her eyes. “Mary, can’t you see what this is doing to her?” One hand dropped to her knee and he squeezed. “Like you said, you were there, you saw.”

“That’s just it, I didn’t see. All I have is her word against his and I get it David, she’s your friend,” She gripped his hand. “But he’s my father.”

He could see the look in her eyes change. He could see the fear there - she wanted so badly for none of it to be real. But she knew in her heart, against her want and judgement, that everything she hoped to be a nightmare of her youth, was true.

“She’s five years older than you, Mary, only five years and he treated her like she was nothing.” His face twisted and the pain he felt for Regina whirled in his blue eyes. “He treated her like his prize, like his plaything.” He spat the words and she flinched, trying so desperately not to hear them but it was impossible. “And Mary,” He pressed his lips together tightly, touching her cheek gently. “You lived in that house too, you must have seen.”

“I,” She opened here mouth to respond but no words came out. Images flashed in her mind - her father’s broad hand wrapped around Regina’s wrist. Shouted words down hallways or a dull thud in the middle of the night. She recalled one morning when she’d dashed into Regina’s bathroom to borrow one of her soaps, only to see the woman covering a bruise with a heavy cover of foundation.

Her breath caught in her throat. She sobbed, dropping her face to her hands as he swiftly moved to the sofa and wrapped his arms around her.

She hadn’t wanted to see, that was the problem. She and Regina had never really seen eye to eye. She’d resented her for her age, for dating her father when she was closer to her own age. She resented that she wasn’t her mother, that she never could be and that, to her appal, she didn’t want to be. Regina had too much set against her from the moment they’d met that Mary-Margaret had never wanted to see what was really going on, even thought it was right there.

“Oh David, what do I do?”

He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her and rubbing her back as her shoulders shook with the force of her tears. “You start to make amends.”

She wept, clinging to him tightly for fear he would disappear. He kissed her brow and hugged her tightly, comforting her until the sobs ebbed away. She didn’t know how she was going to make amends with Regina. There was so much they’d never cared to know about one another.

When she urged him to their bed he stood firm with his kind eyes drawn to their hands. 

“Will you hold me tonight?” She sobbed, worried he would disappear as she slept. She feared he would run to Regina and never return - it was what she had always feared.

David shook his head. “She’s my dearest friend Mary and you hurt her; for years you have refused to see what has damaged her. I let it be for fear of driving away your father’s love. We’ve both done wrong here.” He stood in the middle of their living-room, drowned by the sound of wind and rain as he wrapped his arms around her once, kissed her forehead and stepped free of her arms. “I love you and I will be here when you wake. But neither of us deserve that comfort, not tonight.”

***

Robin pulled the car into his driveway and shut the engine off. He pulled the keys from the ignition and went to get out, but Regina’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Can we, just sit here for a minute?”

Robin smiled gently, answering her with a quiet, understanding voice. “Yeah, we can.”

He wanted to know what it was that had driven her to get drunk in the park in the freezing cold and if it meant sitting in the car for the whole night, just waiting, he was going to do it if it meant he might be able to help her.

They sat silently side by side; the rain falling on the roof of the car was rhythmic, cascading down the windows and reflecting moonlight onto their faces. Robin chanced a glance every now and then, seeing that same moonlight reflected off the tears that marred her cheeks.

Her expression changed so rapidly from hurt to frustrated that he wasn’t sure what else to do but to wait it out and see if she wanted to open up.

Thunder clapped and lightening struck, but they sat there in the dark, listening to nothing but the rain. Neither of them bothered to move - they just sat there in the car, outside the house, waiting for the other to speak.

Regina watched the small child in the rearview mirror, noting how he hugged a small stuffed animal tight to his chest and snored so softly she could only just hear it over the rain. The sight amazed her and confounded her and she could feel her heart, beating against her chest. The cold seemed more prevalent when she looked at his sweet, dimpled face and she pulled Robin’s coat tighter around her shoulders, slouching down in the chair as if to hope she could hide from the world.

“What happened?” Robin’s soft, gentle voice still managed to startle her, even as the thunder rattled the car.

“Mary-Margaret happened,” She spat and Robin flinched, startled by the venom in her voice, even as her facade cracked just a little and another tear broke free.

Regina sniffled, running the sleeve of the coat under her nose before holding her wrist out before her, realising what she’d just done to his coat and sheepishly meeting his eye. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” He chuckled and she turned to look straight ahead of her.

They drifted in to silence again for a few stretched out moments, interspersed with the pattering of heavy raindrops and the rustling of Robin’s coat on Regina’s shoulders.

“Have you heard of Leopold White?”

Robin blinked, meeting her eye for a moment as he attempted to place the name. “Yeah, hot-shot defence lawyer, right?”

She cleared her throat. “My ex-husband.”

“Really?” Robin blinked but when Regina saw no judgement there, she chose to continue.

“I didn’t love him.” She shrugged. “I mean I thought I did, but,” She swallowed and though Robin’s eyes never left her, she couldn’t bring herself to look up at him as she spoke. “I’d lost sight of what love is, if I ever really knew.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged, snuggling into the coat a little deeper. “Parties, gifts, being shown off to the elite in expensive ball gowns and heavy jewellery.” She sighed. “Part and parcel to the scars and the bruises, I suppose.”

“Regina, I,” Robin reached out for her hand, just brushing his thumb across her fingers as she pulled away.

She cleared her throat, cutting him off. “We almost made it big last year, did you know that?”

“You mean the band?” She nodded slowly, staring ahead of her as he watched the side of her face, intently.

“Yeah,” She tipped her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. “We had scouts coming, a huge label was ready to sign us and we were so excited, I was so excited - I mean, I was free and we were doing really well and I was happy.”

“So what happened?” 

“Daniel,” She breathed, letting the name fall from her lips like a benediction, a prayer, a sombre recitation. She sniffed, letting a tear run down her cheek unchecked. “There was an accident and he,” She looked down at her hands and Robin had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her. “He didn’t make it.”

“You haven’t spoken of him before.” They continued to watch the raindrops on the windscreen as Regina mulled over her words, no doubt considering how much she was willing to share.

“He’s difficult to talk about.” She breathed. “He was the only person I think I’ve ever truly loved.” She sighed. “He genuinely thought he could save me from everything.”

She met his eye for a moment and Robin saw something flicker there, something he hadn’t seen in her before. There was light in her eye, there was hope. Not all was lost even when the shadows took her once again and her eyes turned out to the street.

“When he died, I didn’t know what do do with myself. I didn’t know how to be and trying to hide from that, I turned into a monster.”

“You’re not a monster.” Robin sighed, reaching out to grasp her hand that rested in her lap. His coat was too big for her, falling over her hands and covering her knuckles; it swamped her, but the warmth and smell of it had her willing to let those coarse fingertips hold her hand firm and reassuring.

“Everything I’ve touched has been destroyed,” She sobbed. “My marriage to David, to Leo, the band, the club,” She pulled her hand away from his, twisting her fingers to get free when he was reluctant to let go. “Don’t hold on too tight or I’ll destroy you too.”

“Regina,” He sighed. “You’re not going to destroy me.”

“You don’t know!” She hissed, leaning away from him, pressing her back into the door. “Everything I’ve loved has been taken or stolen from me, Daniel is gone,” She sobbed. “I can’t be in a room with Leo without turning into a frightened child,” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “Henry…” She choked on the name, letting it fall from her lips with nothing further to it. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Regina,” He reached out, tentatively touching her fingertips with his, letting her be the one to allow the contact. When she turned her hand over, letting his fingers rest against her palm, he took that as permission to intertwine their hands. “I’m here, Regina, I’m not running away.” He smiled as she looked up into his eyes. “I want to help you.”

“I don’t know if you can.”

He smiled softly. “At least let me try.”

***

Regina stood in the middle of Robin’s living-room. She was doused from head to toe from their dash from the car to the house, dripping heavy droplets into the plush carpet as she waited with tense shoulders, for Robin to return. 

He’d disappeared down the hall with his sleeping son bundled in his arms with whispered words that he’d be right back. Regina had nodded, smiling nervously as she twisted the sleeve of his jacket in her hand.

She looked around, studying the humble little place with a keen eye. The room was surrounded in bookshelves full of leather-bound volumes and children’s books with bright spines. On one shelf stood a stuffed purple giraffe next to a Shakespearean bust and scattered in the far corner was a half-finished tree house community made entirely of lego.

Cushions piled high on the rich leather sofa and a plush nook filled the bay window being rattled by the heavy rain.

It was a sweet, lived-in home with pictures of Robin and his small boy, scattered around the room; she saw no pictures of the boys mother, which was curious but not altogether strange.

“I got you something warm and dry to wear, if you like.” She spun around, looking down at the shirt and sweats he held out to her. “The pants might be a bit big, but there’s a pull-string. I’m sorry I don’t have any in your size.”

“These will be great, thanks.”

Robin edged around her, pulling at the couch cushions. “I know it’s not much, I’m sorry I don’t have more but it’s just the two of us here and on a community college salary, a moderately comfortable sofa bed is the best I have, as far as guest accommodations go.” He smiled a charming white-toothed smile that almost glowed in the moonlight and Regina felt her cheeks flush pink as she coyly looked down to her feet.

“My options aren’t altogether marvellous at the moment,” She smirked. “So it’s lovely.” 

Robin cleared his throat, remembering the look of fear on her face when he had offered to drive her home; where she’d have spent the night alone with her demons and whatever bottles she’d managed to stash in secret places before committing to her sobriety.

“If you need anything,” He turned, gesturing up the hall where the soft sound of twinkle-twinkle-little-star could be heard and the light of a rotating star lamp spilled out onto the carpet. “I’ll be just up the hall.”

“You’ve done a lot alright,” She smiled. “Thank you so much for understanding.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” She reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m your sponsor, Regina and I genuinely want to see you come out the other end of this.” He gave her hand another squeeze before gently releasing her. “Good night.”

He turned to leave, making it halfway up the hall before Regina’s voice called him back.

“You’re four years sober, right?”

He nodded.

“What got you through it?”

Robin’s eyes turned from her to the twinkling starlight floating through the hall and the delicate song coming from his son’s bedroom. She didn’t need him to say it out loud and when he just smiled, she nodded her head and watched him turn and head down the hall, disappearing into his room.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Regina woke slowly to the smell of something baking, a heady aroma that filled the room and made her think of warmth and light and rich breakfast pastries. The blankets she’d cocooned herself in were warm and rumpled, bunched up around her legs and shoulders. She’d managed to snuggle right down into the broad couch cushions, feeling the soft, dark leather against her ankle as her foot hung off the end of the sofa.

She grumbled, keeping her eyes closed. Her heart was terribly conflicted. With her eyes closed there was blankets, cushions, warmth and a sweet aroma that filtered into her dreams - so much so that she didn’t want to wake.  
But then there was movement and rustling and she could feel the sharp touch of sunlight on her cheeks, breaking the chill of the morning air in a single beam of light across her eyes.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. She shifted away from the warm beam of light, avoiding it so that she wouldn’t have to squint - though what she saw when she looked up from her pillow, through her heavy curtain of tousled, raven hair, was a gentle pair of curious eyes watching her with a tilted head, a pursed lip and a stuffed monkey held tightly to his chest.

“Hello,” She tried to smile, clearing her throat of her croaky greeting.

“Hello.” The small boy responded, scratching his hip with his spare hand before wrapping both arms back around his monkey. He stood before her in Robin Hood pyjamas, covered from neck to ankle in little archers with bows and arrows and red feathered caps.

“What’s your name?” She ventured, realising Robin hadn’t actually told her.

“Roland, what’s yours?”

“I’m Regina.”

They fell into silence once again and Regina felt almost awkward, unsure of where to look with the boy staring at her so intently. The shirt Robin had lent her the night before had been far too large for her to sleep in comfortably, which had left her in his sweats - synched tight at her waist, and the tank top that had managed to survive the dousing of rain between the car and the house.

She could feel Roland’s eyes scanning her, curious of the strange woman sleeping on their sofa where he’d no doubt spend his early morning watching cartoons with his beloved monkey.

“I like your pictures.” Regina blinked, not entirely sure what the boy was referring to for a moment, until he seemed to realise her dilemma and moved a little closer to the sofa. “It’s a flower.” He touched her shoulder, where the edge of a rose crept out from beneath the black cotton.

“Yes,” She laughed gently. “It is.”

“What is the rest?” The boy was curious, and the feel of his little fingers trailing along the line of vine he could see around her shoulders, made her smile.

“They’re my stories.”

“Will you read them to me?” He grinned. “I like stories.”

Regina smiled sweetly, feeling tears prick at her eyes as the little boy scrambled up onto the sofa beside her, making himself as comfortable as she had been, curled up in the piles of blankets, cushions and warm dark leather.

“I’m sorry Roland, but I don’t think you’d like them very much.”

He furrowed his little brow, craning his neck to look up at her. “But stories are magic, with heroes and princes and adventures. They’re happy.”

Regina frowned though she kept her voice gentle and free of any anguish that she may have felt in her heart. She didn’t see Robin appear in the doorway, or catch the smile on his lips as he stood watching them with a tea-towel over his shoulder and flour dusted on his shirt.

“These aren’t happy stories, Roland.”

“But they’re so pretty, I don’t understand.”

“Come on, Roland, how about you leave Regina alone now.” Robin took that moment and Regina’s floundering for words, to break the tension. Clearly she didn’t want to upset the boy and for that, he was grateful. But he had to admit, he was as curious as his son to know everything he could about this woman.

He had been asked by David to sponsor her and to help her; but with each passing moment he felt more and more drawn to her. She was mysterious and damaged in an almost Shakespearean sense - her issues were so deeply engrained in her self that he couldn’t barely see Regina for her scars - but she was beautiful. What he’d gathered from her friends and from looking into her eyes; the gruff, rock n’ roll exterior masked something inside her that was both stunning and so very broken.

She wanted to change, he could see that clear as day. But her fingers itched for the neck of a bottle when her eyes rimmed red and memories clouded them over.

She’d opened up a great deal the night before, covered by the shroud of thunder and lightening and the promise that Robin was there, that he’d stay there, for as long as she had need of him. He hadn’t expected her to take up the offer - from what David had told him, Regina was the kind to fight tooth and nail to hide her problems from anyone who might be willing to care - but he could see what she’d told him wasn’t the whole of it.

Leo had damaged her and Daniel’s death had brought her to her knees, but to break this stunning, powerful woman, would take something profound indeed. He got the sense that it was long ago - before Daniel and before Leo, before Mary-Margaret and the rag-tag band of misfits and their music. David’s eyes betrayed the truth of it, he’d seen it when they’d met. 

Whatever made her heart ache was written on her skin as clearly as the roses. And he wondered what exactly it was.

“Waffles?” Robin gestured over his shoulder to the kitchen and Regina was about to respond when Roland’s excited squeal made them both laugh. The small boy bounced off the sofa, dashing past his father and into the kitchen. “Before he devours them all?” Robin smirked and Regina could feel her cheeks flush at the warmth of his smile.

“I should really go.”

“Come on,” He stepped into the room, moving to crouch in front of her. “It’s just waffles - have breakfast with us and then I’ll drive you home.”

Regina didn’t know what had come over her. She knew that David had probably tried calling her a million times, Killian was probably desperate to find her and make sure she was okay, but looking into the soft blue of Robin’s eyes, she struggled to find a bone in her body that cared.

“Okay,” She spoke softly, her voice hoarse as Robin smiled again, standing up and heading back towards the kitchen.

***

Regina sat at Robin’s kitchen table. It was covered in legos, sliced bread and a steaming mug of hot cocoa that Robin set in front of her with a smile. She’d quirked her lips at that, avoiding eye contact with the little boy that continued to watch her every move. 

He was perched across from her on a booster chair with a plastic T-Rex in one hand and his fork in the other, chanting for the waffles, eggs and bacon that Robin was cooking up, to get in his belly.

Regina couldn’t help the small smile that touched her lips, listening to his voice full of joy and excitement; completely untouched and sweet and happy. She turned from him, marvelling at the man across the kitchen and the lean muscles that moved beneath his white cotton shirt as he flipped the bacon and laughed at his son. 

Her head was still aching from the night before and there was a chill in the air that had her huddling deep in the over-sized Oxford hoodie Robin had given her, but she felt at peace. With the little boy’s laughter and the smell of sizzling bacon, she felt safe for the first time in a long time.

“Is there something wrong?” Robin’s voice startled her and she looked up at him. He stood before her holding the still sizzling skillet in one hand, tongs in the other and that tea-towel still tossed over his shoulder. His shirt was old and loved, stretched and pulled at the neck so the slim v-neck revealed more of his muscled chest than intended. Regina licked her lips, cleaning her throat as she shifted in her chair.

“What?”

“Your cocoa,” He smirked, having caught her eye line. “You haven’t touched it.”

On the contrary, there was a deep dip in the whipped cream he’d put on top where she’d shoved her finger in, lifting it to her lips to find it lacking. “Do you have any cinnamon?” She blushed and with a grin, he placed the skillet down in the middle of the table, on a large slab of cedar that doubled as a cutting board, she imagined, before warning Roland not to touch it and heading back to the counter.

The cinnamon was placed before her in a flourish as Robin sat down at the head of the table, Roland in his booster to his left and Regina, with one foot up on her chair and her arm wrapped around her knee, to his right. They were the picture of domesticity and, with a shuddering breath, Regina couldn’t fathom how she barely minded that at all.

“Waffles?” The man question and she nodded slowly, sprinkling the cinnamon on her cream. “I haven’t tried that before,” She could hear the smile in Robin’s voice and turned her eyes to him, holding the cinnamon out to him with a shrug.

“You should,” She nodded as he took it. “Adds a little kick.”

“Me too Daddy!” Roland beamed, watching eagerly as his father sprinkled the tiniest amount over his chocolate milk. “Mmmm,” The boy beamed as he sipped it, grinning at Regina over the rim of his glow-in-the-dark Iron Man cup.

She felt her heart flutter; never had she felt the warmth of anyone so enamoured with her for the right reasons. Roland’s unabashed excitement over her being in their home and sharing with them, such a simple thing as breakfast, sent her for a tailspin. But Robin’s gentle hand on her forearm, as she rested her hand on the hardwood table, somehow grounded her.

After a drawn-out moment of feeling the warmth of his touch through the soft fabric of his hoodie, she slowly pulled her arm away. She cleared her throat, realising that awkward habit of doing so when the situation stretched beyond her comfort zone. This man was her sponsor - he was her guide to sobriety - but there she was, flustered and warm on the inside because of how his fingers touched the side of her hand, or how his son laughed and played with his food or how, out of the corner of her eye, she could see Robin smiling at her.

“How’s your head?” He asked and Regina chuckled slightly, chewing on a strip of bacon; ignoring her cutlery in favour of picking at the food with her fingers.

“A little fuzzy, but alright.” She looked up to meet his eye. “You came just in time, thank you.”

“Anytime,” He grinned and Regina found herself blushing once again. Dropping her feet back to the floor, she sat up straighter and reached for the other end of the table where some paper and a pile of crayons were sprawled across the surface. Clearly Roland had left them there, having drawn his father a masterpiece and Regina grinned as she took a piece of the paper in her hands.

“Have you ever seen a paper crane, Roland?” She smirked, looking up at the boy.

His eyes sparkled with excitement as he clapped his hands and shook his head. She started to fold the paper, doing her level best to ignore how Robin’s eyes never left her face. They sat in silence, just watching her as her little bird came to life and she sat it, with a grin, before Roland. “For you,” She nodded and Roland stared at her, amazed.

“There’s no shaking him off now,” Robin quipped and Regina turned to him, eyebrows knitted as he casually cut through his waffle and tossed a piece - dripping with syrup - into his mouth. “You’ve got a fan for life.”

***

Show and tell day was everyone’s favourite activity of the week. Mary-Margaret liked to have it on Mondays, so the children could have a chance to regale their peers with tales of their weekend adventures whilst they were still fresh in their five to six year old minds. Quite often she heard embellished stories of decrepit grandparents on their last legs, who had come to visit on their final trip south; the origins of that strange piece of shrapnel pulled from Daddy’s leg during his tour in Afghanistan, or the more banal tales of picnics and throwing sticks for their dog in the park.

Everyone took their turn, on their own special day, to have show and tell. Today it was Esther, with a porcelain-faced doll given to her by her mother, that had once belonged to her great-grandmother. Then there was Toby, who shot a BB-Gun at the wall with gusto before having it unceremoniously reefed out of his hand as Mary-Margaret sent him back to his desk with a look of firm disapproval. 

Last but not least, Mary-Margaret smiled sweetly - with Toby’s BB held firmly and safely with her prim hands in her lap as she sat perched on the broad window-sill - as one of her more shy students, who’s bubbly smile was infectious once you could coax it out of him, shuffled up to the front of the class with something small and clearly precious, held carefully within his little hands.

“It’s your turn, Roland,” She gestured with encouragement and the little boy blushed, deepening those precious dimples. “Go ahead.”

The little tiny boy - short for his age and sweet for his gender - took a deep breath and lifted his hands out before him. Many children in the front row leaned in, with others craning to see over their heads as the boy raised his hands, palms up before him with a delicate paper crane perched along his life-line.

“This was a present from my new friend, ‘gina.” He stated with pride, raising his hands a, giving the precious paper creature a higher perch. “She made it for me this morning at breakfast, after she put cimonnon,”

Mary-Margaret smirked, cutting him off gently. “Cinnamon, Roland?”

The boy glanced at her, startled at being interrupted for a moment before he nodded. “Yup, on my chocolate milk,” He grinned back at his rapt audience. “It was yummy, ‘gina says it gives it some kick.”

The children didn’t seem to understand the statement, nor did Roland for that matter, but Mary-Margaret could see the sweetness in the boy reciting this woman’s words from the morning.

“‘Gina called my bird a paper crane,” He beamed and there was a few ooh’s and a few aah’s from his audience. “And she made it by folding up one of my drawing papers.” He turned for a moment, resting the small bird on the edge of Mary-Margaret’s desk before facing his class once again. “When my Daddy read me a story last night, ‘Gina wasn’t there, but when I woke up I saw her in my lounge room and she looked like a princess, I think my Daddy got her for me because I’ve been good and done all my homework,” He turned to Mary-Margaret with hopeful eyes. “Do you think that’s why, Miss Blanchard?”

“Perhaps, sweetheart,” She shrugged. “But people don’t normally give other people as gifts, perhaps she’s a friend of your Daddy’s?” Mary-Margaret worried her lip, hoping they weren’t stumbling close to dangerous territory, frightened that perhaps Roland had seen something he shouldn’t have between his father and what was potentially, a girlfriend - with Roland having no understanding of the concept.

The boy shrugged his shoulders, turning back to his classmates. “Well she can be Daddy’s friend too, because she’s really pretty and she has brown hair just like my Mama does in all of the photos my Daddy has and she has stories painted on her skin, but they’re not just any stories,” His little face fell, with his chin pressed to his chest as he looked at the crowd through his lashes.

Mary-Margaret swallowed, watching how his little face, all of a sudden, became distraught. “They’re sad stories.”

“Did she tell you that, Roland?”

He nodded his head slowly, watching his teacher as he continued. “I heard my Daddy talking to ‘gina too and she said her head was fuzzy, but I thought it looked fine. I wasn’t supposed to be listening but, because I had a dream about going to the park, I wanted to know where ‘gina came from,” His eyes widened, astonishing himself with the story, no doubt blown out of proportion in typical five-year-old fashion. “I heard my Daddy talk about the park and that ‘gina likes bottles but not anymore…”

He scrunched up his nose. “I don’t know what’s so great about bottles, but ‘gina is my new favourite person, ever because she had waffles with my Daddy and me and she made this paper crane.” He rolled on the balls of his feet, puffed out his chest and stood proud, indicating the end of his story. Mary-Margaret smiled tightly at the boy as he toddled off, back to his desk; but on the inside her mind was reeling.

This boy, her student; sweet little Roland Loxley, had told a story of a woman named Gina who his father had brought home from a park whilst the boy slept, who had stories painted on her skin and liked bottles. She couldn’t help but wonder, chewing on her bottom lip as she remembered tossing and turning, aching for David’s arms around her the night before when they’d both mourned the damage they’d caused their friend. She couldn’t help but wonder if Roland’s Gina was their Regina, who oozed bitter resentment and yearned to be saved from herself - if not by herself.

She’d disappeared and Mary-Margaret, once able to understand just what they’d been doing to each other for years, had felt such an ache in her chest as she feared for the woman’s safety and sanity. She couldn’t help but hope for the serendipitous notion that Regina may have found some comfort, somewhere without a bottle or a baggie or a lonely rooftop in the rain. Her lips twitched, warming with hope that she was safe.

 

***

Half the lights in the club were off when Mary-Margaret pushed through the heavy stage door. The hinges creaked and the bottom scraped on the tarnished concrete; she cringed, hoping the sound didn’t disturb the club’s one, lonely occupant.

The building is old and every other night that Mary is there, watching David and the band play, she wonders if Mr Gold has ever hired anyone to clean the place. The lounges have torn edges, the ground is almost always sticky and the air has a smokey hue more prominent in the spotlights that flicker intermittently.

She found Regina in the middle of the lounge, resting on a tall stool with her feet up on another, those signature leather stiletto boots hooked over the backrest of the stool - she was bathed in half a spotlight, twirling an empty tumbler around with one hand. There was a bottle in front of her, unopened and Mary-Margaret’s brows pinched at the sight.

“I know you’re there.” Regina growled, turning her head just slightly, but not looking her in the eye. Instead, her eyes were cast off to the stage and her voice lacked the venom it usually did when they spoke; however rare that may be.

“I wasn’t trying to hide.”

“Good, because you suck at it.” She muttered and Mary found herself smirking gently to herself at the return of Regina’s malice. She wasn’t entirely sure when she’d started to see Regina’s snide remarks and insults as an endearing quality in her former Mother-In-law.

Mary edged into the room, every now and then glancing at the bottle on the table, wondering why Regina kept staring at it, but not touching it. She moved slowly towards her, making her way carefully, twisting her fingers together in front of her as she turned to face the seated woman head on. “I came to say I’m sorry.”

“For which transgression do you refer?” Regina’s vengeful eyes turned upward, meeting Mary-Margaret’s with an uncharacteristic red rim around dark, auburn gemstones. She’d always known Regina was beautiful, and a part of her had known that was the sole reason her father had pursued her so fervently. She’d also known - in the dark part of her heart where she truly knew her father - that it was also the reason why he so venomously despised any man who’d tried to look at her.

“We’ve done and said a lot to each other over the years,” Regina glared and Mary-Margaret flinched, but didn’t stop. “But what I’m talking about is yesterday,” She took a deep breath, knowing how she’d treated her, how thoughtless and blind she’d been, was hurting this woman who had been nothing but kind when they were younger - teaching her to braid her hair and make pumpkin scones for Halloween when all she’d wanted to do was escape her father. “I should have known better,” She paused, meeting Regina’s eyes again - those beautiful dark eyes that refused to turn away, even as they were wet with tears. “I do know better and I didn’t think. I was selfish.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m sorry, Regina.” Mary edged forward. “I truly am.”

“For bringing him here or for purposely breaking my trust?” Regina questioned but didn’t let Mary answer, before she continued. “Because that’s what you did. And you broke David’s and what’s worse, you broke my trust in David. Because how can I trust my best friend when the woman he loves, doesn’t even care about the people around her?” There was a hitch in her voice and Mary noticed it, but instead of mentioning it, it only made her heart break more for the woman. “I used to trust David with everything, I even trusted him when he chose to love you. But you’ve broken that,” Regina kicked her feet off the stool and stood, resting the tumbler on the table next to her untouched bottle of Scotch. “I hope you’re happy about that.”

“Please, Regina,” Mary-Margaret chased after her as she turned to walk away, her voice pleading. “Please don’t blame David for this.”

“How can I not?” Regina hissed, facing her. “He loves and trusts you, and you did that to me,” She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “You did that, knowing what would happen.”

“No,” Mary pleaded. “I swear, I didn’t. I didn’t think.”

“No,” Regina nodded, regretfully. “You really didn’t, did you?” Regina sighed. “You didn’t think about how that man tortured me and ignored you, for years. All you’ve ever wanted was his love and approval and you’ve damaged the one good, positive relationship in my life, to get it. You selfish, thoughtless little girl.”

Mary arched back, taking the metaphorical punch to the gut, with a creased brow. “I’m sorry.” She choked.

“You are now, now that I’m sure David has reproached you and your father has walked away from you, spitting insults in my direction. Now that it hurts, that’s when you’re sorry.”

Mary watched her carefully, twisting her fingers nervously in front of her as she remembered a little boy’s words. Regina turned from her again, stepping out of the spotlight and resting her palms on the bar with her back to her.

Her gentle, quiet voice carried through the bar, making Regina’s back stiffen as she asked. “Have you met someone?”

“Is this really the time?”

“No,” Mary stepped closer. “No, I mean, I heard something this morning that made me think.” Regina turned around, arms folded and back rested against the bar, listening. “A little boy in my class talked about a new friend he’d made. Last night his father put him to bed and this morning, there was a woman there who had breakfast with them and put cinnamon on his hot chocolate.” Regina flinched, hugging herself tighter. “See, this little boy, Roland is his name,” Mary-Margaret watched the recognition in Regina’s eyes, but pushed on. “He talked about how his new friend had sad stories painted on her skin and she made him paper cranes.”

“So?” Regina swallowed, her voice hoarse.

“It wasn’t the hurt that made me sorry, Regina,” Mary’s eyes were filling with tears. “It was that I remembered when there was a woman that used to have breakfast with me and make paper cranes that would would watch over me.”

Regina released a sob, turning her eyes away.

“I remembered when that woman was my friend too.”

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Regina sat on the steps of the old church for a good few hours before anyone appeared. The sun was already setting with blues and purples smattered across the sky. Stars were coming out, speckling the royal blue with tiny balls of light. She marvelled at it, ignoring the sound of the cars in the street and the birds in the tree by the sidewalk, chirping and rustling the branches.

“You’re early,” A voice startled her and she smiled, involuntarily, before she cleared her throat and stood. 

“Yes, well,” She smirked. “I had nothing better to do.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Robin grinned before brushing past her and heading through the double doors. Regina followed close on his heels, chest heaving with her thoughts of the last few hours, reeling of Mary-Margaret’s words and the idea that she’d made such an impression on Roland that he’d talked about her in class.

“Yes,” She grumbled. “Well it was come here or hang around the bar, waiting for Mary-Margaret to beg forgiveness for the fifth time. I chose relative silence and birdsong.” She shrugged as he placed his clipboard and shopping bags on a nearby table before turning to her.

“I suppose that’s fair enough,” He smiled gently, but there was something heavy in his eyes. The look stole from Regina’s uncharacteristic lightness and made her heart sink. She panicked for a moment, as if the world would cave in should Robin fail to smile. She knew it was ridiculous, she knew if something devastating had happened to his son, the last place he’d be would be the church basement, so she stilled her rattled heart, slowed her breathing and took a gentle step forward in askance.

Robin too, it seemed, had the same idea. Near nose-to-nose they stood and from that distance, Regina could smell his aftershave; the woodsy smell of a man who liked nature, books and cooking pancakes with his son. It was a heady smell, one that left her reeling and forgetting Killian’s Irish Whiskey or David’s Candy Corn or the acrid smell of Leo’s bitter cologne. Daniel had smelled similar but with the metallic touch of plucked guitar strings and the softness of drum dust.

“It’s good that you’re here early, because I actually wanted to speak with you, Regina,” Robin gripped her elbows and Regina felt her breath catch at the contact. The touch was through the leather of her coat, but she could still feel the warmth of it go right through her. He guided her to one of the few unfolded chairs in the room, stepping away for a moment to pull his own over so that he could sit before her.

“What about?” They both ignored how her voice wavered. She was worried; of what she didn’t know. But her eyes were widened and her palms were sweaty, waiting for him to tear her world out from under her. 

She’d only known him a short while, but somehow she felt that he’d be capable of it.

Robin cleared his throat, nervous to speak; from glancing at his hands she could tell he was jittery too. 

“I’m not going to be your sponsor any more.”

Regina was right. With one sentence, her world fell apart. Her heart felt like it was caving in, the edges of her vision started to haze and her clammy palms felt like they were dripping onto the hard concrete floor. 

“What?” She choked. “Why?”

Robin could see her fear and quick to assuage it, he gathered one of her hands up in both of his. “Don’t get me wrong, Regina, I know we’ve got a long way to go. I know that you’re just getting used to being sober and I know it’s still hard, but I’ll still be here.”

“How?” She stammered. “I don’t like anyone else here, they’re all idiots, they’re ridiculous, I don’t want to work with them, how can you do this?”

He smiled gently, humouring her vengeful streak with a knowing look. “I haven’t asked anyone from this group,” He smirked. “And I promise you, if you don’t like who I’ve picked, I’ll help you find someone else. But it can’t be me.”

“I don’t even understand,” She growled. “This doesn’t make any sense. I don’t want another sponsor, I want you.”

“That’s just the problem, Regina,” Robin smiled nervously, with a blush running up his cheeks. “I feel the same.”

“I don’t get how that could - ” Regina faltered and froze, letting his words sink in. “You what?”

Robin licked his lips. “I want to help you, Regina and I won’t ask anything of you that you’re not ready for, but what I feel and how quickly I’ve come to feel it, I can’t in good conscience, remain your sponsor. It wouldn’t help you, it wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Regina blinked. She hadn’t dropped his hand for fear it would all become a dream if she suddenly let go. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out but for a gentle puff of air.

“I’m doing this because I want you to get better, Regina,” He squeezed her hand gently. “And because I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. This is my issue and I’m dealing with it the best way I know how.”

Regina’s eyes were cast down to their hands as he spoke, having dropped from his own for fear his face would fade before her and twist into a nightmare like so many of her dreams did. But this man, this kind man with a sober coin and a son, was telling her that he cared about her. This man who made her waffles and rescued her from the rain was walking away because he thought it might save her.

“Cook for me.” The statement startled Robin and his hands flinched.

“I’m sorry?”

“I like Thai food, or Italian, that’s good.” She bit her lip. “It’s alright to cook with wine, isn’t it? Even when you’re trying to stay sober?”

“No, Regina,” He blinked. “I don’t understand.”

Regina blinked, feeling bold. She decided, however suddenly, that she was going to fight for the chance to know a kind man that could love her, instead of the brother-type that never would, the dead man, the bastard or the drunk. 

“You said you’re not going to ask for anything I’m not ready for; that’s fine.” She nodded, pulling her back up straight. “Make me dinner, leave the wine out of the recipe, light a candle or two and pour me a lemonade.”

Robin laughed, the shaking of his hands subsiding, replaced with a gentle caress of his thumb across her palm as it turned. 

“You’re sure?” He questioned, having heard too much of her past to think rushing was a good thing.

“I’m a big girl, and without the alcohol, I’m likely more clear-headed right now than I have been in years,” Her tongue darted out, wetting her top lip. “Plus I know that I want to kiss you.” Robin suddenly realised how close they’d come.

“This is the most unprofessional I’ve ever been.” He edged forward.

“There’s probably some sort of law against it.” Regina smirked, slipping to the edge of her seat, letting the side of their knees tap together.

“I’ll never be a sponsor in this town again.”

“Worst comes to worst,” They were both so close now that Robin could feel her breath on his cheeks with every word. “We’ll blame David.”

“True,” It was the last word Robin managed to utter as their lips touched. She gripped his biceps with deft hands, refusing to wrap her arms around his neck like she itched to - too much too fast, too close too soon - but that didn’t stop her pulling her body closer. His large hands dropped to her waist as the gentle, searching kiss deepened to something more intimate. Her lips swelled with the exertion, her eyes turned glassy and their breathing, as a pair, shallowed. Robin’s strong fingers, clearly good for labour work and lifting his son, found their way into her hair, brushing through - thankfully - calmer, hairspray-free, dark tresses. Regina’s small hands fisted, gathering the cotton of his shirt and digging her nails in to hold on tight.

She knew her makeup would smear, she knew her hair would tousle, but that look was no surprise to the people who would make their way through the doors at any moment. A few songs and a bender, they’d assume and she was content with that. But the thought of the others arriving at any moment, stopped them in their tracks. Their lips parted and they each drew heavy, desperate breaths, letting their foreheads fall together as they continued to cling to one another.

“The others will be arriving soon,” Robin breathed, watching Regina intently as she sucked in her bottom lip and bit down on a smile. She groaned, leaning a little closer just to press her eyes closed and roll her forehead against his.

“But you’re a really good kisser.”

Robin chuckled, dipping his head so that he could drop a delicate kiss to the tip of her nose. “Soon,” He answered gently, reaching his hand up to touch her cheek. “But not too quick.”

“No,” Regina agreed with a heavy reluctance. Her heart was pulling her towards this man, making it difficult for her to drag her body away. But her mind was throwing her Killian’s face, the cold chill in her bones when Leo was near and the heavy weight of Daniel’s death in her chest. Robin was right - too fast would mean it would end and in that particular moment, she never wanted it to.

“Hey guys, am I too early?” A voice startled them both and Regina spun around in her seat, looking up to where the familiar sound had come from to see Emma standing there with a pensive expression. “Did I interrupt something?” She frowned.

“No,” Robin jolted from his seat, sending a shiver down Regina’s spine as his fingertips brushed her shoulder. “You’re just on time. I was hoping we could discuss this with Regina before the group gets here.”

Regina was frowning up at them, clutching the back of her plastic folding chair. “Discuss what?”

Emma chewed on her lower lip, glancing at Robin as he slowly turned around to address Regina. “Emma, as my suggestion for your new sponsor.”

“Emma?” She spluttered, surprised. 

“I told you she wouldn’t go for it, I should go.” Emma turned on her heel, ready to run and for a moment, Regina was going to let her, but something inside of her snapped. 

“No!” Regina stood up quickly, taking a step forward as Emma turned back around. “Wait,” She said quietly. “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea.”

“You’re sure?”

Regina shrugged against Emma’s skeptical expression. “Maybe we’re not the best of friends, but you probably understand my drinking issues better than anyone else I know. Which should scare me,” She smiled as kindly as she was able. “And a part of me is glad that it scares me. Maybe it means I’ll do better.”

“I don’t know anything about your other…” Emma began to say, glancing at Robin who still had hope in his eyes that this suggestion of his would work out. 

Regina needed a sponsor and most of all, a friend. He was only hoping that the blonde would be capable of both with patience and, when needed, a firm hand.

“The drugs?” Regina offered her and Emma nodded, swallowing. “It’s alright, I think I’m doing okay right now. As long as I stay away from them.”

Emma cleared her throat. “We can do that.”

“Can we?” Regina asked, hesitantly.

“I think so.”

***

Regina felt that she was doing well. She was talking more with Emma - they suffered from a few road blocks in the first few weeks. They were both drastically different personalities that had been pushed together to serve a common goal. But Regina was pig-headed, as Emma had shouted at her, and Emma was ‘as stupidly good as her stupid friend’ as Regina had petulantly spat back. They struggled to get along, but overall, they were managing to keep Regina sober.

Sometimes it ended in an all-out screaming match in the alley behind the bar, but Regina’s throat stayed dry and when they left each other of an evening, she was grateful Emma was just as stubborn as she was. She had trouble admitting it, but Robin’s choice seemed to have been the best thing.

Robin’s sponsorship was kind, gentle and well practised. He’d done it before and proven himself incredibly good at it. But for Regina, even she was starting to identify that she worked better with a firmer, less experience and less patient hand. She needed someone that wasn’t going to take her shit, someone who wasn’t going to back down when she smashed glasses across the counter of the bar or kicked bottle crates across the room like a child. She needed someone that would slap her right back, when she got too aggressive.

Emma was that person.

The meek and quiet girlfriend of the club-owners son, she was not. Regina hadn’t really ever given Emma the time of day. She’d been there to look pretty at the bar, ply her with bourbon and keep her mouth shut. She hadn’t really ever tried to sit down with her and talk to her, to find out what made her tick. But over the weeks they spent in each other’s company, Regina was starting to learn there was more to Emma than met the eye.

She learned, slowly and without showing any particular outward interest, that Emma loved to read. The woman seemed fascinated by children’s fairytales - mostly from the Brother’s Grimm. She had an extensive collection of leather-bound storybooks that featured tales of great heroics - hope and love and courage. She’d scoffed when she saw the shelf, making a snide remark about Emma’s taste. The woman had taken no offence, simply shut Regina down with an equally as acerbic quip about Regina having spent the night at Emma’s because she had accidentally slipped up and was afraid she might do it again.

At least she’d identified her mistake. That was progress.

The insults and ridicule they threw at each other only caused surface burns and were never aimed at anything that would cause permanent damage. They didn’t discuss how they were both orphaned, how they’d both lost a child, or how Regina was truly starting to feel like Emma’s one bedroom, five-storey walk-up with the fire escape covered in pigeon poo, was starting to feel like somewhere she could be safe.

Emma didn’t question Regina about what was going on with Robin. When she was with him, it was the only time of the day Emma didn’t bombard her with text messages about what she was doing, where she was going, and who she was with. Both of them knew it was a little overzealous for her to be on her case, every minute of the day. But Regina had asked for it; petrified that she’d slip up again. But that didn’t stop her from tearing Emma to shreds every time the constant interruptions became too annoying.

When they were both at the club - Emma stocking and cleaning the bar and Regina practicing with the band, Emma could keep a watchful eye but Regina was feeling less and less like she belonged. The clearer her eyes felt, the less foggy her brain, the more Regina was starting to feel like the life of a rock singer in a dive bar, wasn’t a life that she wanted. 

Before Leo, she’d studied music. She’d been so gifted and ambitious. But he had torn her down in every which way he’d known how. Every touch of his calloused, old fingertips on her skin had pulled her one inch closer to the abyss.

She hadn’t felt like she was worth anything more. The club had been her escape, her place to run away and rebel from him. But the further she’d gone into that world, the further she’d gone from everything she’d wanted to be. 

Every day of her life she’d suffered with the loss of Henry and every day, she’d struggled to keep her head up. But one thing after another was taken from her; her dignity, her pride, her love. She’d just been waiting for someone to take her life too, all the while not realising that she’d been doing that herself.

On her good days, Robin made her pasta and they watched cartoons on his sofa with Roland curled up between them. They didn’t encourage Roland to believe there was anything else there, than Regina spending time with them both, their friend. His ‘Gina. But when the boy went to bed, Robin would wrap his arms around her and kiss her gently, whispering sweet things into her ears and making her feel that the darkness in her heart, just might be able to lighten.

She always left before it went too far; she was learning to realise her limits, with his help and Emma’s. She was learning that she didn’t have to hold on so tight, fearing that he’d disappear. He assured her, time and again, that he wouldn’t.

“I think I’m doing much better,” She whispered, curled under the faux fur blanket with him on the large sofa. The TV had been turned off and they were warmed by the glow of the fireplace as he peppered kisses along the bridge of her nose.

“Is that so?” She could hear his smile in his voice.

“It’s nearly been three months.”

Robin pulled back, dipping his head to meet her eyes for a moment. “That is a milestone.” He grinned as a blush crept up her cheeks. “I didn’t doubt it for a moment.”

“I did,” She admitted sheepishly.

“Nah,” He hugged her closer and Regina went, grateful for the warmth of his chest against her cheek. “You didn’t. You just knew it was going to be hard. It’s alright to be scared, once in a while.” He kissed the top of her head and Regina pressed her eyes closed. “It helps you remember you’re alive.”

Regina took a deep breath, feeling it shudder through her chest as she hugged her arms around him tighter. She knew that he’d notice the difference, that he’d feel the change in her grasp, but he stayed silent, waiting.

“This is the only place I can remember, that I don’t feel afraid.”

“My house?”

“You,” She breathed out and she smiled at the jostle of Robin’s chest as he laughed, hugging her just a little tighter.

***

“You need to do something about it.” Gold seethed, pacing behind his broad mahogany desk with an incredibly controlled look of irritation on his face. Neal just stared at him, confused.

“What do you want me to do, Pop? I just run the bar.”

Mr Gold pressed his palms to the desk, glaring at his son.

The owner of the Carlyle was a short-statured, stately looking man never seen without his expertly tailored, bespoke suits adorned with precious gem cufflinks and silk ties. 

So much of him was about power and appearance. 

To appear unthreatening, to appear congenial. To appear as though he wasn’t out wholly and solely for himself. The only other human being worth a dam, to Mr Gold, was his son. But that didn’t stop the man from abusing the relationship within an inch of what it was worth. 

On a handful of occasions, Neal had threatened to walk. But something had always dragged him back. Emma believed that it had something to do with Neal’s late mother, but no one had ever been entirely sure. All they knew was that, on the whole, Neal was an entirely different man to his father, but with his father’s penchant for securing ironclad deals, they never seemed to rid themselves of one another.

Neal didn’t agree with his methods, but he’d also never worked up the courage to leave the Carlyle. And when it came to Neal, there was a certain amount one could push Mr Gold to concede his position.

On Regina, they’d never quite seen eye to eye. 

Mr Gold insisted that he needed her as she had been - drunk, high and in his words, pliable. She was easily suggestible when she was face-down in a bottle of bourbon, her flared nostrils inflamed and her attitude burning with barely controlled rage. All he had to do was press just the right button - and he’d learned each and every one of hers - to get what he wanted from her.

But the new Regina, the sober Regina, was giving him more grief than he was willing to pay for. The problem was, the Royals still brought in more revenue than he was willing to part with. So he had few choices before him. Mr Gold only saw one, as even remotely viable.

“You’re in the perfect position. The bar is what we need.”

Neal shook his head. “No way, Pop. Seriously, she’s been trying to come good. It’s bad enough she’s surrounded by drink every day.”

“Case and point, my dear boy.” Gold smirked. “No one will question it, when she falls off the wagon. It’ll be a simple slip-up. Another one of Regina’s epic failures.” He shrugged, taking a seat behind the desk. “They’ll all be a little disappointed, Regina will drown her sorrows even further and we’ll all get what we want.”

“It’s not what Regina wants.”

“And you’d know that, how?”

Neal glared. “You know Emma’s been helping her, they’re doing real good together.”

“Your girlfriend needs to stay out of this.”

“You know she won’t.”

“Then if you don’t comply, my dear boy, I may just have to make her.”

Neal’s eyes widened for a moment and he felt his heart drop into his stomach. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

Neal could feel his heart pounding in his chest as his palms began to sweat. He knew what his father wanted him to do, the man never really had to spell it out for him. But the idea of it; spiking Regina’s drinks, tipping her back over the line so that his father could serve his own needs, it was too far. He knew she was doing well, even Emma who had never sung the woman’s praises, had told him how proud she was of her.

But then, he also knew what his father was capable of. And he knew what he was implying. The thought of Emma suffering just the smallest bit, made his heart almost beat out of his chest. 

He harboured no ill-will toward Regina. In fact, there had always been something about her that he’d liked - probably her honesty, even if it bordered on rude and misanthropic. 

He was being given a choice.

Emma or Regina.

TBC.


	9. Chapter 9

Emma couldn't really say that she'd ever really  _liked_  Regina. She'd tolerated her, and couldn't say from time to time that she hadn't been amused by her. Most of the time she just made her sad, the way she'd drown herself in a bottle after every gig, or sniff questionable powders off the already dirty coffee table in her dingy dressing room. She didn't know a lot about Regina's history, but from the way David treated her like she was made of glass and from the little she did know, Emma had a fairly strong idea that Regina's demons weren't a figment of her imagination.

The woman had been broken, time and again, by people who had professed they loved her. She and David had divorced, though Emma didn't really know why, considering how he doted on her. And her marriage to Leo had been toxic, to say the least. Emma could really only remember Regina truly happy when she'd been with Daniel. She'd laughed, a laugh that wasn't touched with a demented sort of sarcasm. She had smiled sweetly and blushed at gentle compliments. Since his death, Emma had only watched Regina's decline from her place behind the bar, further and further into a pit she wasn't sure she was still strong enough to crawl out of.

Having spent so much time with her over the last few months, seeing her change and grow and learn that she could be brave without the alcohol and the drugs, Emma had been growing to be proud of the woman. Seeing in her a strength of will she hadn't been able to see before. She could admit that maybe she'd judged Regina too harshly, she'd always wondered if maybe she'd let Mary-Margaret and Regina's issues cloud her judgement of Regina, having been friends with Mary-Margaret much longer and found herself unwittingly on her side of their feud. That was partly why she'd agreed when Robin had asked her to be Regina's sponsor. She didn't know what Regina was going through, she wasn't an alcoholic - but Robin had been right. Regina needed someone that wasn't going to let her get her way when the going got tough, somehow this man she'd only met once, knew Regina better than she did; he'd known her a few weeks and Emma had been watching her waste away for years. A guilt had gnawed at her, a guilt of having judged Regina before she really understood her.

Over their few months working together and watching the way Regina was with Robin and especially, with Roland, Emma could see her changing. She could see her coming back to the Regina she was when Daniel was alive - the Regina that smiled and laughed and didn't throw insults in her face over the bar, or break vodka bottles against the door frame when Emma refused to give her yet another, for the night. She was being clear-headed and kind and Emma was more often than not, happy to see her.

Which is why, when Regina stumbled over the draw-string hanging loose from the backstage curtain, and fumbled her way to the bar, the alarm bells in Emma's head started to go off. Regina's dark, short curly hair was a mess, dishevelled by her dark painted nails brushing through it as she lent against the bar and grinned in the blonde's direction.

The woman set her tall glass on the counter, watching with overt fascination as her straw twirled around the rim before coming to a stop. It was a soda glass; Emma was perplexed.

"Are you alright, Regina?

Regina frowned at her. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Emma shrugged. "No reason." She cleared her throat and continued polishing a glass, smirking over her shoulder as Neal brushed by behind her, touching her rear with a chuckle as he went. The look Regina threw them caused Emma to roll her eyes, but she laughed.

"Another club soda?" Neal asked and Emma watched as Regina nodded, slipping her glass across the counter with a flourish. Emma's brow creased even further, watching as Neal disappeared around the other side of the bar and Regina turned her head out to the stage, watching the rest of the band fussing with their equipment as David argued with Leroy about the lighting.

"You sure you're alright? Have you been drinking?"

"What? No," Regina took her offered glass from Neal with a fresh straw and shook it at Emma. "Shut up, Miss Swan." She spat and strutted towards the stage.

Emma blinked in shock, her mouth hanging open.

"What's wrong, babe?" Neal questioned, dropping a kiss to Emma's bare shoulder.

"She called me 'Miss Swan'."

"What's wrong with that? She always calls you that."

Emma shook her head, pulling her phone from her back pocket and quickly dialling the number at the top of her list, the number she'd been calling almost twice a day for months. "No she doesn't," Emma frowned, listening to the call ringing. "She hasn't called me that since she's been sober."

Emma felt Neal tense behind her and it sent a shiver through her as she continued to listen to the line buzz, waiting for him to answer. "I'm sure it's nothing, babe, don't stress."

"Robin!" Emma exclaimed when the call finally connected and she felt Neal's hands disappear from her shoulders, but she couldn't think about that now. "Hey, yeah, I'm okay. It's Regina," Neal watched her as she hugged herself, listening to Robin on the other end of the line. "Yeah, can you get down to the club, she says she hasn't but I think she's been drinking.

She hung up the call and turned to see Neal looking out over the empty club with a pinched look on his face. "What's wrong with you?" Emma asked, curious and Neal blinked, startled before clearing his throat and smiling, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Nothing," He kissed her forehead as he squeezed past her. "All good."

* * *

Robin could feel his heart in his throat as soon as he hung up the phone. He stood there, at the kitchen counter, watching Roland building a house with his legos on the living room floor. So much peace and innocence just sitting there, creating stories for his little lego men. His heart beat only faster realising he had to get to Regina as soon as he could.

Grabbing his coat and keys, he dashed for the living room, before picking Roland up and making his way to the door. "Where are we going, Daddy?" Roland asked as Robin gently stuffed the boy's arms into his coat.

"Daddy has to go see Regina really quick, is that okay?"

"'gina! Yay!" Roland bounced on his feet, clapping his hands and making it even hard for Robin to button up his coat.

"Sorry, little man, you can't come this time." The boy's face fell and Robin let out a sigh as Roland's whole posture deflated. "I'm sorry, Roland, but Regina's not well and Daddy has to go make sure she's okay, do you understand?"

"But 'gina said I make her feel better," Roland defended, pointing a finger at his father to drive his point home. "She said my hugs are the best hugs ever."

Robin chuckled, dropping a kiss to the top of his boy's head. "That they are, little man. And I promise I'll bring her to see you, as soon as she's feeling better, okay." Roland continued to frown. "We can even have a picnic, how does that sound?"

"Can I make cakes for 'gina?"

"Sure," Robin smirked, mussing Roland's curls. "You can make her whatever you like. Just, for this time I need you to stay with UncleWill while I go see Regina."

"Uncle Will! Uncle Will! Uncle Will!" Roland shouted, bouncing again in clear approval of the idea. Will, of course, had no clue what was coming, but that didn't mean the man had a choice. Robin needed to get to the club as soon as possible and Will was going to help make that happen.

* * *

"What, no!" Will pushed back against Robin, who was holding Roland out to him on his front porch. "Ana's coming over, you cannot leave that here!" Will protested.

"Will," Robin pleaded. "Please, I wouldn't ask if this wasn't an emergency." He shoved a giggling Roland back into Will's arms and let go. He knew his friend wouldn't ever let anything happen to his son and as quickly as he'd handed him over, he was bounding down the front steps. "I'll be back as soon as I can!" He waved over his shoulder and Will huffed, repositioning Roland on his hip, muttering under his breath before slamming the door behind him.

"Alright, sprout." Will shared a look with the boy. "What you wanna play, then?"

"Xbox." Roland answered definitively and Will huffed again.

"Gratuitous violence it is then." He set the bouncing, excited little boy down and set about pulling out the controllers.

* * *

Robin made his way into he club, he smiled to Ruby as he passed the coat-check before heading toward the bar. The Royals were in full swing on the stage, Regina halfway through pulling her jacket awkwardly from her shoulders as she didn't miss a beat of the song. Robin stood there, in the space between the bar and the crowd, mesmerised by her.

It was the first time he'd seen her with a crowd of fans - he'd avoided it so far, with months of working on getting her sober and trying his hardest to hide the fact that he'd been steadfastly falling for her since the day they'd met - he hadn't wanted to be taken in by it. He knew, the way she sang gentle songs to Roland before he fell asleep on the couch between them, the way she could put together a rhyme on demand, the way her melodic voice curled around his name like a benediction, she was talented. He just hadn't realised how talented - it floored him.

"They're halfway through the set!" Emma's voice startled him and Robin turned to her, leaning over the bar, trying to get his attention. The way she was already halfway across it with her arm stretched out to him, he sheepishly realised she'd been trying to get his attention for a while. He moved closer so she didn't have to yell so loud.

"How is she doing?"

"Just like normal."

"Okay, that's good, right?" Robin grimaced.

Emma shook her head. "No, it's bad. She hasn't played a set this kind of normal since she stopped drinking."

Robin looked out to the stage again, licking his lips as Regina held a particularly long note, pulling at her shirt, exposing her black, lace bra and ribs as if she was pulling the note clean out of her chest with her fist. It was then that Robin noticed the man standing off to the side of the stage, short statured and firm featured. He wore an expensive pressed suit with a silk handkerchief in his breast pocket. A smirk was growing on his lips as the man watched Regina perform, a sinister, spine-chilling smirk that made Robin's blood boil.

"Who's that?" He gestured and Emma's expression darkened.

"Gold, he owns the place."

"So you could say Regina's part of the merchandise?"

"Yeah," Emma winced at the analogy. "I suppose."

"And in what state is she of most benefit to him?" Robin knew he was jumping to conclusions, anyone else and he'd be thinking it was just any other normal slip-up. But he didn't want to believe it of Regina, she'd come too far, worked too hard, and he was too invested.

Emma frowned, chewing on her lip. "You don't think?"

"If she swears she's not drinking, maybe she thinks she isn't." Emma blinked, confused. "Where's Regina's dressing room?"

"But how? How could she be drinking without us knowing? Without  _her_  knowing?"

Robin gave her a look that she could feel radiated with desperation. She'd seen it from the moment he'd asked her to support Regina, to be her buddy. He desperately wanted for Regina to succeed.

She gestured behind the heavy velvet curtain at the end of the bar. "Through the curtain, last door at the end of the corridor." Robin nodded, heading that direction. "What do you think you're going to find?"

"If she's more valuable to him like this, I don't trust him as far as I can throw him."

"That Regina's guy?" Neal questioned as Robin disappeared behind the curtain and Emma jumped, looking up at him and frowning when she saw the look of suspicion on Neal's face.

"You know Robin." She narrowed her eyes. "What's up with you today?"

"Nothing," Neal shrugged, shuffling past her to serve someone as Emma continued to study him, confused.

* * *

Robin burst into the dressing room, he up-turned clothes and her bag, draped over a chair. There were glasses everywhere, a bottle of water on her vanity and candy wrappers strewn across the floor. He untwisted the lid of the bottle, sniffing at the water, before placing it back and heading for the bunch of near-empty glasses on the coffee table.

"And who might you be?" A thick, Scottish brogue startled him and Robin looked up with the glass half-way to his nose.

"You're Mr Gold, right?"

The man raised an eyebrow, unsurprised that Robin knew him, but he slowly inclined his head. "I am, and yet alas, my question has gone unanswered."

"Robin Locksley," He lowered the glass back down, but didn't let it go. "Regina's friend."

"Ah," the smaller man circled the room slowly, like a vulture. "The sobriety coach, was it?"

"I guess you could call it that."

"And you would be here, in my club," He eyed him. "Why? It's not really your kind of venue."

"Emma called me," Robin stood up straighter, feeling the need to be on edge around this man. "She was worried about Regina."

"She's fine."

Robin narrowed his eyes at the dismissive tone of the man. That with a simple two words, he was telling Robin to drop it. Robin could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Really?"

"Of course," He nodded, clasping his hands in front of him. "Regina's a valuable asset, there's no one at the Carlyle that would do anything to endanger her."

"Right, an  _asset_." Robin was less and less convinced, the more the man spoke. The glass was still in his hand, dangling uselessly between them where he'd almost raised it to his nose. Regina had been so adamant that she wanted to get better, she'd been so steadfast and she and Emma had made great strides in her attitude and her coping. He couldn't imagine Regina would fall back off the wagon like this, not without a reason. It wasn't like the night with Leo - nothing profound had caused a shift. He made brunch with toast soldiers and bacon for her and Roland out on his back patio, wrapped in woollen sweaters beneath copper fall leaves. It was a picturesque morning and Regina had been glowing and happy. He couldn't imagine anything that could have driven her to drink in the short hours since he'd seen her last.

He raised the glass the rest of the way to his nose, seeing how Mr Gold's shoulders tensed ever so slightly. Unnoticeable, if not for Robin having already been suspicious.

"And so, Mr Locksley, what have you found?"

"Club soda," Robin shrugged, looking down into the glass with a frown.

"You see, there's no reason to assume that…"

Robin touching the glass to his lips silenced the other man as he took a short sip then suddenly spat the liquid back in the glass. Robin's stone blue eyes turned back up to the man. "…and Vodka."

"I'm sure, Mr Locksley, that you're mistaken."

Robin slammed the glass down on the table and went about gathering up Regina's things. He shoved her scarf into her bag, tightened the lid on her water bottle and stuffed that in as well. There was a small stuffed animal Roland had given her to keep her company, sitting on her vanity, so he grabbed that too before storming past Mr Gold.

"Mr Locksley, you have no right to-"

Robin spun around in the hall, feeling the base of the music beating through the walls. "What right do you have!?" He demanded, suddenly realising how much shorter the man was. "How long have you known her, how long has she performed in your club, and you do this to her?"

"I don't know what you mean. I've done nothing."

"Bullshit," Robin spat. "I'm not an idiot, Mr Gold. I know what it's like to be in her condition, I know how it feels. You'll happily do anything as long as it gets you another drink. You've plied her with vodka because you know it'll make her more agreeable,"

Mr Gold rolled his eyes.

"- Maybe not more submissive, or less aggressive, because I know she can be a volatile drunk, but she's certainly less likely to realise that she can do better than you, and this rot-infested shit hole."

"I honestly, don't know what you mean."

"You know exactly what I mean. You're lacing her drinks to keep her compliant, to keep her the Regina that no one else wants to deal with so that you can keep raking in the money when she performs." Robin watched the older man's eyes narrow as he hit the nail on the head. "I may not have been to a show, Mr Gold, but don't fool yourself by thinking I haven't done my research, I know your club makes ten times more money when she performs." Gold scowled at him. "But she's not alone anymore, and I won't let you do this to her just to fill your pockets."

"And what will you do?" He asked, haughtily, like he'd given up all pretence that what Robin was accusing him of, could be false. "You'll carry her out of here on a white horse?" He scoffed. "Please, you'll throw her right back when you're done, they all do."

Robin could feel his blood boiling. "I'm going to give her the choice you stole from her." He spun on his heel and headed back for the club. He nearly collided with Emma as she squeezed out from behind the bar, seemingly coming to find him, from the surprise in her eyes at his murderous expression.

"What happened?" She looked over his shoulder at Gold brushing through the back of house curtain.

"I need to get Regina out of here," He frowned down at Emma. "How long until they're finished?"

Emma furrowed her brow up at him. "They're done, they've hit the encore," She eyed him, worried. "Regina should be off the stage in a few moments."

Just as she'd said it, Regina came bounding down the steps of the stage with David and Killian pushing the crowd back so that she could squeeze her slight frame through, spotting Robin across the bar and heading straight for him.

"You came to see us play?" She grinned, bumping into Emma as she wrapped her arms around Robin's neck.

"Yeah," He smiled into her neck, loving the smell of Roland's space-man shampoo in her hair, breathing it in. "I've wanted to for a long time." She dropped back in his arms, trusting him to hold her as she looked up at him more adoringly than she had before. He knew not to give it too much weight; her eyes were glassy and her body was pliant and he wondered just how many drinks they'd doused to get her this tipsy.

"How was it?" The world had narrowed to her sweet voice, soft and curious, looking up at him like the world hung on his answer.

"Amazing," Regina giggled at his answer and Robin wasn't the only one surprised. David's eyes widened at the display, Emma was completely dumbfounded by how open Regina was being, Killian looked the world like he wanted to shrivel up and disappear, his face was so pinched with an inexplicable kind of hurt and Mr Gold was doing his best to disappear. "But I think we should get going, Regina, I-"

She groaned. "But I'm having fun." She frowned, like a little kid who was being told she couldn't play with her favourite toy.

"It's getting late though, and remember you promised Roland a picnic tomorrow."

He didn't want to ask her in front of these people, he didn't want to humiliate or scare her by forcing her to face the idea that she'd been drugged, by someone that she'd trusted, again. He could only imagine that the news would be as violating as seeing Leo again, and feeling the man's phantom touch on her skin. Regina's emotions were a delicate, volatile thing and he knew he had to tread carefully.

"I did?" She touched her finger to her full, red lips in thought. She hadn't, but Robin knew she was too tipsy and too in love with Roland to disagree. "Right, okay," She looked into his eyes again, flicking her hair back from her face. "You'll be coming with us, though, right?"

He smirked at her attempt to flirt with him. "Of course."

"Oh," She pressed her palm to his chest with a deep breath that pressed her chest against his. "Goodie."

"Come on," He dropped his arm from around her waist and grabbed her hand. "We've gotta go."

"Mmm," She spun around to be close to him again, pushing herself up on her toes so that their noses were almost touching. "Okay." She pressed her lips to his, kissing him hot and messy and wrapping her arm around his neck again. Robin blinked as she pulled away, licking his lips to gather his wits before grabbing her hand again and pulling her along; not giving her the time to find another reason to protest. He glanced up at the group surrounding them, briefly, to see the looks on Emma and David's faces reading a subtle kind of satisfaction, whilst Mr Gold had disappeared and Killian was doing his best to look anywhere but at them.


	10. Chapter 10

Roland had fallen asleep on the couch, cuddled up to Will's side. His girlfriend, Anastasia, was sitting across from them on the large plush mis-matched arm-chair, smirking whenever she looked their way.

"It suits you, you know." She grinned, touching her bare toes to his, across the coffee table, as Frodo and Sam were climbing Mount Doom on the TV in front of them, the volume turned right down once they'd noticed their own little hobbit friend had drifted off to sleep.

"Don't you start," Will scowled. "We can hand this one back, that's why it's fun. You wouldn't think it was cute if you had to clean up after him every day."

"I don't know," She hugged her arms around herself. "I think he's precious."

"That's what he wants you to think," Will pointed at the sleeping child tucked into his side. "Lull you into a false sense of security and them WHAM! Tantrum in the middle of Walmart."

Ana laughed heartily, tucking her knees to her chest as Will grinned at her. He was about to go out of his way to make her laugh again, that being his very favourite thing to do, especially when her blonde hair would fall over her shoulder and her smile was broad and bright, making her eyes sparkle. But his attention was pulled away from her when his front door suddenly burst open and Robin came stumbling into the room with a wobbly brunette, desperately covering her mouth.

"Ana, hey, I'm so sorry," Robin tried pathetically to apologise but Ana was quick and gentle-hearted and she was on her feet before Will had even really realised what was happening. Ana wrapped her arm around the pretty, yet clearly unwell, brunette before guiding her to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

"Locksley."

"Scarlett." Robin's eyes were fixed on the hall where they could hear Regina retching behind the closed bathroom door, and the sound of Ana's soothing, gentle voice saying kind words they couldn't quite make out.

"New girlfriend?" Will asked and he could see the slight blush to Robin's cheeks, but he didn't answer, just tucked his hands in his pockets. "Right."

"Was he good?" Robin gestured to Roland, still fast asleep with his cheek squished against Will's hip. Will nodded, but didn't want to dwell on the boy when Robin had just staggered into his house with a woman he'd never met, just seconds away from spilling her dinner on Will's carpet.

"She seems nice."

"She is."

"So, stomach bug? Or am I to be an uncle again?"

Robin blinked at the insinuation before shaking off the shock of it and sitting down on the edge of the coffee table, unable to take the comfort of the sofa in that moment. "That guy that owns the club has had her drinks spiked, he thinks he can get her to stay and perform there, if she's the angry drunk she used to be so no one will want to work with her."

"Sounds like a great guy." Will deadpanned.

"The scary thing is, I have no idea how long he's been doing this to her." Robin took a deep, shuddering breath as he looked up at the hall again, hearing a particularly loud, anguished sound from the bathroom that made him wince. "So yeah, Emma noticed this time, but what if he's been doing this for weeks and Regina's just managed to sleep it off?" Will could see a tear come to his friend's eye and he shifted in his seat. "What if all this time, she's been succeeding through the day, only to be kicked back down to where she was, at night?"

"Nah, she'll be okay," Will smiled gently, running his fingers absently through Roland's hair. "You fell off the wagon a couple of times, if I recall, and it didn't set you back too far. And he's been caught out now, you can help her through it."

"She's more damaged than I ever was, though. What she's been through, I don't even know the half of it," Robin sighed. "I can't even imagine how she's going to react when she finds out."

Will was about to respond and reassure his friend, when Ana appeared in the hall with a gentle smile, looking down at Robin. "She's asking for you, Robin,"

"Is she okay?" he asked, moving closer to Ana with a worried expression.

"She's okay," She smiled. "A little embarrassed maybe but she'll recover, of course."

"Thank you," He placed a kiss to Ana's cheek before brushing past her and heading up the hall.

"I think he's a goner for that one," Will grinned and Ana nodded, dropping down on Will's other side.

"I think she is too."

* * *

Robin made his way cautiously up the hall, wincing at the gentle squeak the door made as he pushed it open. The image before him broke his heart and he could feel the shattered pieces jump up into his throat.

Regina was huddled on the floor beside the tub with her back to the tiles, her knees pulled up to her chest and her dark fingernails buried in her hair - the heels of her hands were pressed to her eyes and she'd kicked her shoes off; they were laying haphazardly beside the toilet that sat open.

"Regina," He said her name as softly as he was able and she looked up at him; when those dark eyes set upon him, he could see her tears begin anew, with new tracks forming through her already marred foundation, muddying her cheeks with melted eyeliner.

"Robin," She sobbed. "I'm sorry," She pulled at the thick curls still wrapped through her fingers. "I'm so, so sorry," She wept even harder as he dropped to his knees and bundled her in his arms. She gripped his shirt, pulling herself even closer as he pressed his palm to the back of her head and kissed her brow. Her mascara was likely to stain his shirt; he didn't care. "I didn't realise, I mean," She gasped through her sobs. "I didn't think I,"

"Shh," He held her tighter, feeling her shake against him with her tears. "It's alright." Robin kissed her brow again, soothing her by rubbing his hands along her back. "You're okay, Regina, you're safe."

* * *

"It was you, wasn't it?" Neal startled a little, hearing the small voice from the stairwell behind him. He was sitting out on the fire escape of the Carlyle, a bottle of beer dangling from his fingers by it's neck and his eyes fixed on a deep puddle in the middle of the street below. The sun was just a few hours from coming up and the club had cleared not long after Robin had dragged Regina away, much to the fans dismay; the whole place was surrounded by an eerie silence.

He knew he didn't have to answer the question still hanging in the silence between them; they both knew she was right.

"Why?"

There was an even longer silence then; her eyes burned into the back of his head, while his were entranced with the reflections of passers-by in the puddle below.

"Why do you think?" He said quietly, scratching his nail along the seam of his jeans, knowing it was pointless to hide the guilt, futile to cover the shame. He hadn't wanted to do it, it wasn't his choice; he knew what his father was capable of.

"Don't you dare put this back on me!" She demanded, stepping out onto the fire escape and finally, he spun around, pulling his legs back through the rail and sitting with his back to the puddle, to the lights of Los Angeles.

"What would you have had me do, Emma? Let my father destroy you?" He cried. "Because that was the choice; it was Regina or you!"

She studied him, the hurt and pain twisted in his eyes. She couldn't reconcile this man with the one that she'd fallen in love with. This man had broken through the locked gates of a fair-ground so that they could ride the ferris-wheel all to themselves on her birthday, he'd brought her flowers and gave her a job to save her from boosting cars; this wasn't who she thought he was.

Tears sprung to her eyes and she pulled her arms together, wrapping them around herself. "And you really think this is what I wanted? You think destroying Regina is better than what? That I might lose my job? That I'm back on the street?" Emma sobbed, anger burning in her stomach. "You think I care, if that happens?"

"I wasn't willing to pay that price."

"And how is my life, any more precious than Regina's?" Emma cried.

"I love you, Emma."

"It's her soul, Neal - you took away her right to choose what she wants to be. You violated her trust, and mine."

Neal pulled himself up to stand before her, reaching for her elbows but she reefed her arms away, angrily.

"You had no right!" She screamed, her tears coming full-force now. "She was learning to be good and she wanted to change; she was sober, completely and she was working so hard at fixing her life." Emma sobbed. "She has been in so much pain, for so long and she was finally feeling like she was moving away from the darkness and you took that all away."

"I couldn't lose  _you_."

Emma looked up into his eyes suddenly, her expression stoney and resolute. "Well, great work, Neal" Emma sniffled, holding back tears. "Because now you have."

"Emma,"

"You broke my trust, Neal!"

"But she'll be okay now, and my father can't blame this on me, Robin came and took her away," He sighed. "She'll sleep it off and Robin will take care of her, and she'll be fine."

Emma pressed her eyes closed tightly with a sigh. "It doesn't change what you did."

"Please, Emma, I didn't have a choice." Neal's pained expression tore at her heart, but Emma couldn't back down. He was right, Regina would be fine, Robin would make sure of that. But she was vulnerable and she was hurting and over the last few months, Emma had learned so much about Regina that she knew she couldn't just accept that. Regina had struggled, every day of her life and she deserved the happiness that she was working so hard for.

"You did have a choice, Neal." She brushed at her cheeks, wiping away her tears before straightening her shoulders and looking him in the eye. "You just made the wrong one." With that, she turned around and made her way back into the club, shuffling her way down the narrow steps to the bar, doing her best to ignore Neal shouting after her to stop and let him explain, to forgive him, to understand. She grabbed for her red leather jacket behind the bar and shoved past him when he tried to block her way, tried to grab her shoulders to stop her.

"Please, Emma, just listen."

"NO!" she shouted. "We're done, Neal."

"Emma!"

"You know what the saddest thing is," Emma stopped, just by the door of the club with her shoulders hanging low, almost defeated. She looked to Neal who stood in the middle of the club that he hated, by the bar that he ran for the father that he hated, looking nothing at all like the man she thought he was. "All of this just proves you're more like him than I thought you were. A coward and a liar."

Neal's eyes filled with tears and he moved to follow as Emma turned on her heel and headed for the door, his arm reached out for her, but he was stopped, held back by a hand at his elbow. "Let her go, son." The voice behind him spoke quietly - like a viper, hissing in the darkness of the dim club.

"This is all your fault." Neal spat, not turning his eyes from the door, not willing to turn to look at his father.

"Come now, my boy, it's all for the best."

Neal's resistance failed him at his father's words and he turned, looking down, realising he'd been closer at his back than he'd thought. "For the best?" He questioned, face pinched and lip shaking with anger. "How is this for the best? You're going to lose Regina, she's already lost," He shook with rage, shaking his father's hand from his arm. "And because of you, I've lost Regina's trust and worst of all, I've lost  _Emma._ " Neal let the tears fall, he let his father see his pain written clearly on his face.

"You'll get her back and Regina will come around when she gets her taste back."

"You don't get it do you!" Neal yelled. "You're so blinded by your own greed that you don't care what happens to anyone around you. Regina won't give in this time, dad, she's so much stronger than you think. How can you not care that you've hurt everyone around you?"

"I only care what happens to you, Neal."

"You," Neal hesitated, biting down on his lip; he stood there, staring at his father for what felt like an age, trying to understand how his father could care so little for the rest of the world and claim that he still loved him. "How can you say that? You've known Regina longer than you've known you even had a son, you've known her since she was a child, you knew her parents before they died. How can you say that, about her of all people."

"Oh I care for Regina," Mr Gold smirked, edging closer to his son with a frightening sort of malice in his eyes. "But she's not my child, you are, and if she's truly decided she wants to turn good, she's no longer of any use to me."

"Screw you, you soulless bastard." Neal said through gritted teeth. "Good luck finding another son to do your dirty work, I'm done with you."

"Come now, Neal, don't talk like that."

"This place can burn for all I care," Neal hissed in his father's face before walking away, with no intention of looking back.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, this one has been a looong time coming. There's still a bit more to go after this, but we're past the midway point now and getting to the end. Regina has to heal and Robin is going to be there every step of the way. This chapter is the true first step, a tipping point, shedding off what has really caused Regina's troubles and giving her a chance to move on.

Regina woke slowly to the feeling of warmth on her skin - her arms, her face, and one leg that was outside the blush duvet. The wide bay window was open just a little, enough to let in the fresh morning air and the sound of birds chirping in the tree outside. If not for the pounding in her head, she'd have found the scene rather comforting, quaint even, but the birds were slowly killing her - like a siren going off inside her head.

The whole room smelled of musk and pine needles, a smell that eased her churning stomach and soothed her nerves, if just a little; the sheets her face was currently pressed against felt soft and worn and the bed was large and comfortable - the feel of the fabric against her bare legs made her never want to move again. She realised, after a moment of running her fingers across the soft sheets - eyes closed, of course, she wasn't yet ready to risk it - she knew exactly where she was. Gingerly, she blinked her eyes open, testing the light on her already foggy brain - it was okay, the icepick through her eye socket she'd been expecting, didn't come. She looked around, taking everything in.

She had never really put much thought into whether or not a man's bedroom could be both ruggedly handsome and incredibly homely at the same time, but she supposed that was Robin all over. Wooden cabinets and dark sheets, a chair acting as a makeshift closet even though there was a perfectly good walk-in across the room, with the door ajar; she suddenly realised she could spend her whole day right where she was and never feel like it was wasted - but she couldn't remember how she got there.

The door opened and she startled only slightly, her thoughts breaking from surveying every corner of what had to be Robin's sanctuary, sucking in a breath in surprise before her eyes fell on his smile, bathed in the orange light of morning. He stood there in a pulled and worn white t-shirt and weathered jeans; her knight in cotton and flannel. Some of the memories fell back into place, making her frown.

"Robin," Her voice cracked, her throat raw - that's when everything came back to her like a flood.

"Good morning, sunshine." He smiled that smile that told her all was right with the world. She knew it wasn't, she knew it couldn't be. It touched her heart, though, that he tried. He crossed the room to her with a large earthen mug of steaming coffee and bare, silent feet on the thick rug. "How are you feeling?" He asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed as she pulled herself up to sit, gingerly taking the offered mug as the large old sweater she just realised she was wearing - the Oxford hoodie she'd worn the first night she'd been in his house - dropped off one shoulder.

"I've been better," She rasped, wincing and reaching for her throat with a tender hand. It hurt her to see him frown and for his eyes to drift to the hand at her throat. She wanted so badly to reassure him, to promise him what happened wasn't something that she planned to repeat. "But I've also had worse." She blinked at him, tilting her head to look into his eyes. "Where did you sleep?"

"The couch isn't half bad, don't worry about it." He smirked. A silence fell between them for a moment, as she tested the heat of the coffee, taking a sip. She pulled her lips away quickly with a small smile - it was still too hot. He looked into her eyes then down to his hands. "Regina," He breathed out. "Can we talk," he met her eye again. "about last night?"

"Robin," She started, but his hand up between them, silenced her gently.

"I know," He insisted. "I know it wasn't you."

Regina frowned. She remembered a lot of the night, she remembered being on stage, she remembered Killian's eye following her across the club with that forlorn, lost puppy look. She remembered talking to David, briefly, before they went on stage and raising a glass with him when they'd arrived in the afternoon. They'd grabbed glasses of juice from the bar and toasted to her sobriety with laughter, a far cry from what she and David had become accustomed to, which is why it stood out.

All she could remember ordering was a few juices, maybe a coke or two. There was definitely at least one club soda before she went on stage. She just assumed, somewhere in the fog, she'd decided ' _to hell with sobriety'_ it certainly wouldn't have been the first time. But she couldn't, for the life of her, understand why - nothing important had happened that day; but maybe that was the whole point, did it really have to?

His words did surprise and confuse her though, and her brow furrowed."What do you mean?"

"Regina," he reached for the hand she had in her lap with both of his, holding it on the blanket between them. The coffee sat forgotten in her other, against her knee. "What do you remember, about last night?"

She tried to piece together her thoughts. "I know how it ended," She breathed out, the shame lacing every word. What surprised her, though, was how Robin's hands just gripped her's tighter, reassuring her, comforting her. If anything, she thought he'd have been repulsed, or a the least, embarrassed by her. She could still feel the cold tile against her shoulders and the sweet words of a blonde woman she'd never met, soothing her as she held back her hair. "I'm not proud of it."

Robin looked taken aback all of a sudden, frowning, surprised as he met her eye. Regina was only more confused. "Regina,"

"I fell off the wagon, Robin." She sighed, twisting her hand out of his and pulling it to curl against her chest. "I'm so sorry. I know you believed I could do this."

"No," He quickly replied, reaching for her cheeks with both hands. He cupped her face on both sides and she had no choice but to look up into those large, comforting blue eyes. They were eyes that, from the day she'd first gazed into them, she knew she'd break if they ever looked at her with disappointment, or anger, or fear. She pressed her eyes closed before she got lost in them, pressing them tighter and scrunching her face in fear of what she may find there. But his words shocked her. "No no no, Regina," She could feel his thumbs caressing the apples of her cheeks, deliberately, soothingly - dare she wish for it - lovingly. "I know this wasn't you.  _Please_  look at me."

She hesitated, debating with herself if she had the strength to look. But she trusted him, she truly did and she knew, he wouldn't do anything to hurt her, or scare her. It took great effort, but with a flutter of hesitation, her dark eyes opened and looked up to see.

Nothing but care, nothing but worry and concern and affection.

"Gold admitted it," He sighed, seeing how she tried to process his words. "I don't know how he managed it, how he did it without you or David or Emma noticing, but he all but admitted to lacing your drinks." He breathed out, seeing her eyes well up. "You didn't do this, he did."

Regina choked back a sudden, unexpected sob. Her body shook with it and the coffee cup slipped from her fingers, spilling on the bed sheets and over her bare leg. She hissed, shuffling back, feeling the hot coffee burn against her thigh and fresh, hot tears on her cheeks. Her brain struggled against his words, trying to process exactly what he'd said. She felt so suddenly exposed and violated.

Robin was quick to move, he jumped from the bed and grabbed an old shirt that was laying across a chair, dashing back to press it against the red raw flesh of her thigh, to mop up the hot liquid. Regina continued to simultaneously sob and wince, overwhelmed by the revelation and the pain in her leg.

Robin tossed the shirt and cup aside and they both dropped with a thud onto the rug. He pulled the sheets away to see her skin was turning a bright, harsh red. So he quickly bundled her small frame in his arms and carried her to the ensuite where he had to awkwardly set her on her feet just long enough to turn on the cold tap in the shower. He hesitated for only a moment before he muttered " _Oh, sod it!"_ pulling her back into his arms andstepping under the spray, being sure to angle her leg under the cool, rushing water.

Her relief was only physical; he could see the red welt easing as he stood there, both of them drenched under the cool water, Regina bundled against his chest with her arms held tightly around his neck, her face buried beneath his chin as she cried - her whole body shaking with sobs. He rested his back against the wall for support, lifting her higher against his chest to keep them both steady. "What do I do, Robin?" Her small, lost voice surprised him. She sounded like a child, alone, abandoned and confused and he couldn't help but feel that her tears weren't only for what Gold had done. She sniffled against his throat, her tears warm on his skin against the cold shower water still running over them. "Where do I go?"

"Stay here," He answered without hesitation or doubt. Her head tilted up to look at him, this time not afraid to see into his eyes. "For as long as you need."

"That place was my home." She whispered and he could feel his heart breaking at the look in her eyes. He could only imagine though, what she was feeling - to have her autonomy stolen, to have her choice, taken away. He wondered if maybe it may have been easier for her to take, knowing that the stumble was her own choice - this was so much worse. She'd held onto that place so tightly, something that was killing her from the inside, because it was all she'd really had. Her home was a toxic, putrid den of greed and addiction because she'd had nowhere else to go, no one to pull her out. "What do I do now?"

Robin sighed, stepping out of the shower and moving her to sit on the vanity. She watched him as he turned in the small space to shut off the shower, so small that with every turn he made his hips brushed against her knees; he turned back with a cool, wet cloth and pressed it with his broad hand, against her thigh - the irony wasn't lost on him, as he pressed his palm to the tattoo on her thigh - a heart and a crown - his queen, his love. "You make a new home."

The look in Robin's eyes took her breath away and her bottom lip pulled into her mouth of it's own accord - even with tears still burning her eyes, she felt a heat down low in her belly, looking into his eyes. The warmth of his fingers through the cool cloth sent shivers up her spine and she shuddered as she rested her own hand across his broad, calloused knuckles - threading their fingers together against her leg. Her other hand gripped the edge of the vanity at her hip, holding on for fear of slipping off and knocking her head, only to wake up and find that this, him, his warm breath against her lips, was all a dream. She was petrified that if she blinked, her eyes would open to see her dark, dingy dressing room and the smell of bar-soap and sandalwood would be replaced with the acrid stink of stale cigarette smoke.

His lips were mere inches from hers, their breath mingling as his other hand pressed to her hip. Her breath caught in her throat at the unexpected sensation - rough fingertips against her skin, dipping beneath the elastic of her underwear - shuddering out as her eyes jumped from his eyes to his lips and back again; the warmth of his touch in stark contrast to the cool water that stuck to them both. "I'm afraid." She whispered on a breath, barely even audible but for how close they were. She didn't need to shout, she didn't really even need to say it, he knew.

"I'm here," Was his answer before his lips were on hers. It wasn't like he hadn't kissed her before, it wasn't like she didn't know how that felt. But this kiss had her heart nearly beating out of her chest with the promise in it. Not since Daniel, or Henry, had she felt like her heart could stop, shutdown, or burst for being unable to cope with how fast it was going, how full it felt. The hand he had at her hip had moved around to press against the small of her back, moving her closer to the edge of the vanity. She gripped his forearm, giving up on holding tight to the vanity because she knew in that moment, with Robin's hot lips devouring her own, that he was going to be better at grounding her than any solid, inanimate object, ever could be.

Her knees lifted at his sides as he moved closer, his hips pressed to the vanity as she wrapped her legs around him. He'd so far kept his palm and the cool cloth against her thigh but she grabbed for his wrist and pulled his hand up to entwine their fingers, letting the cloth fall to the floor at his feet. The kiss was burning and fluid, all harsh breaths and teeth and heat, like fire drawing up from her belly. With every inch he moved forward, she pulled him back until he had her bent against the vanity, her back pressed to the mirror. Awkwardly, and with his help, she managed to shuffle the hoodie up and over her head, dropping it to the floor with the cloth, leaving her in nothing but her black, lace underwear set and the heavy gold locket that hung around her neck.

Robin leant back for a moment, taking in the sight of her tousled, eyes half-lidded and wanton - wet curls were sticking to her face, but most of her hair was still dry having stayed out of the spray of the shower, pulled up in a messy little ponytail on crown of her head with the shorter tendrils falling loose against her neck. "You're so beautiful." He whispered and marvelled at the way she blushed, how her long, dark eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks and those dark eyes turned down to somewhere near his belly-button. With a gentle hand he reached for her chin, raising her head with just one finger to look in his eyes. "I mean that."

"I know," She answered softly, with a small, shy smile. He was the only one since Daniel, that she truly believed. Because she knew in her heart, he wasn't only looking at her body, he was looking at her whole being and what he imagined she could be. It made her feel brave, strong - it made her feel like maybe she wasn't as pathetic as she'd always believed, that she could get better,  _be_  better.

She watched him as he pressed his palm to her stomach, her body shaking just a little with the sobs she just couldn't yet shake, brushing his thumb against the rose tattooed in the curve of her hip, poking out from beneath the line of her underwear. His fingers traced a path around her belly-button, his palm edging it's way up to curve around her ribs. Her breath became more laboured, her heart beating faster with every movement, every touch. Her skin burned where his fingers trailed and she bit her lip, loving every inch of it. Like a balm on her raw, exposed heart.

Her breath stopped for a moment as his fingers stilled on her sternum. Something in her snapped and toppled over. A dam broke and she felt am overwhelming, desperate need to finally,  _finally_ tell him what it was that had brought them here, to this point, this moment. She'd never told another soul, she'd never felt safe enough. For so long she'd been behaving like she could get through this, that she could work at being better by working on the surface issues, when deep down she'd always known what it was that had splintered her soul, ripped her in two and left a massive, gaping hole in her heart.

"He was my son." Her voice, so small and broken, startled Robin - he froze.

"What?" He wasn't expecting that. The world around them silenced, like they were lost in a vacuum where nothing else existed by him and her and the bone-chilling torture in her eyes.

"Henry," She reached up, linking her fingers through his where his hand was pressed to her ribs, where the tip of his middle finger had just touched the tiny tattoo in the valley of her breasts, just over her heart. She caressed the ink, lovingly touching the tiny grey-blue heart that enclosed the name of her son, her precious, perfect little boy. She looked up at him with a watery smile, her voice thick and laced with tears. "He was my son and he died."

The image of Roland's cold, lifeless body came to Robin unbidden, and his heart broke in two, suddenly understanding how she had come to be so broken."Regina."

"No one knows about him," A lone tear trickled down her cheek, barely noticeable for flood of tears she'd already shed. "only David."

"David was his father."

"Yes."

Robin nodded, letting it all sink in. "Did you break up because he died?"

Regina smirked. "No," She sniffed. "we married because I was pregnant." She shrugged, shivering suddenly as the heat that had been between them was slowly drifting away, he pulled her to sit up closer, her stomach pressed to his. "We have always loved each other, but never really like that. We were kids and he was my best friend."

"Henry's death is what has done this to you, isn't it? It wasn't your marriages, or the music, it was  _him_."

"I stopped caring what happened to me," She shrugged, fiddling with his fingertip on her chest, unable to look up at him as she spoke. "I just wanted to fill that void, with anything, I didn't care what." Regina sniffed again, moving her hands to absently toy with the button of his shirt to give her mind and hands something else to do, to ward off the tears that were winning, no matter what she did. "The day my son died was the single, worst day of my life. He was  _everything_  and he was gone, just like that."

"I'm so sorry, Regina."

"I have spent the last twelve years trying to burn or drown the pain away," She sobbed, dropping her forehead to his chest as her shoulders started to shake in earnest. "But it just won't stop." Robin continued to rub her back, holding her against his chest. Her limbs were shaky and her head lulled where her forehead was pressed to his shoulder. She continued to cry, but her strength to keep upright was almost spent; so much that she'd been keeping in for so long, finally released and it was like all her energy had been expelled.

"I don't want to forget," She looked up at him suddenly, her eyes resolute. "I don't ever want that. But I just want it to stop hurting."

"Come 'ere," He helped her down from the cabinet, her feet falling to the cool tile floor. He gently guided her back to the bed, pulling the coffee-soiled sheet off and tossing it aside before urging her to climb up onto the mattress.

"Stay with me?" She spoke softly, her voice husky, fighting off sleep.

"Of course."

"Is Roland here?" She questioned as he tucked the blankets around her, before climbing in the bed at her back. The press of his bare skin behind her surprised her for only a moment before she remembered his clothes were still sodden too - he'd dumped his shirt and jeans on the pile on the chair and kept his mostly-dry boxers on.

"It's still far too early for him to be up."

She sighed, almost content. "Okay."

"Regina," Robin spoke softly, pressing his lips to her shoulder as he hugged her tightly against him, their fingers entwined against her chest. "Will you tell me about him?"

There was a long silence, filled with nothing but her breath, an intermittent sob and the birds in the tree, just outside the window. As her breathing evened out he thought perhaps she wasn't going to answer, that maybe the onslaught of emotion had been too much for her and her body had given in to sleep. But her quiet voice surprised him and her hand squeezing his just a little, touched his heart.

"He loved fairytales, I used to read them to him every night, and I did all the voices, of course." There was a smile in her voice, and Robin thought, just maybe, now that this was coming out, she could perhaps start to heal.


End file.
